Book 2: Return to Hogwarts
by Veronice
Summary: Summary: Harry Potter killed Voldemort when he was seventeen, but Death Eaters have since made his life a lottery. After some years travelling, he returns to Hogwarts in a different role. There are still dangers, and not just from Death Eaters. Cornelius Fudge believes that powerful wizards are dangerous wizards.
1. Chapter 1

_Summary__: Harry Potter killed Voldemort when he was seventeen, but Death Eaters have since made his life a lottery. After some years travelling, he returns to Hogwarts in a different role. There are still dangers, and not just from Death Eaters. Cornelius Fudge believes that powerful wizards are dangerous wizards. _

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling. My stories diverge from Canon from the end of 5th year. _

_Important Note:__ When Harry was hit by a Death Curse at the age of 16, he was left with a sensivity to spells. A stunner can kill him, and even a lesser spell can make him very ill. _

_Chapter 1:_

A young man alighted from a ship at Portsmouth, England. He had mid-brown hair, glasses with colourless frames, and a livid scar down his left cheek. He wore shabby jeans and a white T-shirt, but a good quality leather jacket. A small backpack was slung over his shoulder. A plain woman of about thirty was with him, but it was time to part. They kissed with a great deal of affection, and some passion. Her name was Susan, and she knew him as Henry Bellamy. His real name was Harry Potter. He walked off down the street, limping slightly.

He was undecided as to his next move. He had taken care to disguise himself as best he could, and the fortuitous scar down his cheek helped him considerably, taking attention away from the faded and inconspicuous zig zag scar that was usually hidden under his untidy fringe. That scar was an immediate identifying mark to all those from his world - the wizarding world. And while to most, he was a hero, to others he was a target. Since he had killed the Dark Lord Voldemort, he had been subject to determined attempts to kill him.

Only in the last six months did he seem to have thrown off his pursuers, and had lived a peaceful life working on a remote Australian cattle station.

But now he had returned to England. He had become lonely for the world and the people he loved, and muggle life no longer satisfied. He wanted his friends.

He was still undecided as to what he planned, and he wandered through the streets of Portsmouth, thinking. He was not relaxed. He was wary, constantly alert. But he was homesick, too, and when he noticed an unusual doorway, with a faded sign above it, he paused, watching. What had caught his attention was that the doorway seemed to be invisible to the people around him, and when he looked more closely, the picture on the doorway was of a little golden ball, with wings. It looked like a Quidditch ball - the Golden Snitch.

For a time he leaned against a wall on the opposite side of the street, watching, noting the type of customers who pushed open the door, and all the other passers-by who didn't seem to notice that it was there at all.

After a time, he straightened himself and entered the pub, which, he had become sure, catered for witches and wizards. His impression was confirmed. Inside, pretence had been abandoned and caped witches and wizards sat at tables and stood at the bar, many talking animatedly about a game of Quidditch that was to be held the following day.

His gold was at the bottom of his backpack, so he asked the bartender if muggle money was accepted, as it usually was, even in wizard pubs. The bartender looked at him curiously, accepted the money, and gave him a butter beer. He actually preferred the taste of a good lager, but he hadn't tasted butter beer in so long...

Standing quietly at the bar, sipping his drink, little notice was taken of him at first, although it was obvious that he was a stranger. They were talking about Quidditch, and Harry was interested. But he really pricked up his ears when they spoke about the players, Mason, White, and Weasley. Drink in hand, he joined the group, "Excuse me," he said, "What Weasley is it you're talking about?"

"Ron Weasley, of course! Where've _you_ been? He's the best Keeper England has had in years."

Harry was excited. He so desperately wanted to see Ron again, and now it looked like he might be playing right here the very next day. But one of the men was looking at him suspiciously, and when he asked how to go about getting tickets, and where the game was to be, said aggressively, "It's not for the likes of you - I reckon you're a muggle! How'd you know about this pub, then?"

Harry said briefly, "Saw it."

"Well, I reckon you're a muggle, and if you're not a muggle, you're a squib, and we don't want them hanging around either!"

Harry was regarding him, thinking that a muggle fist-fight would be very satisfactory, but a wizard fight was too dangerous - not that he had the slightest fear of being hurt by this idiot lout, but he feared he would betray himself. He looked at the other people around, "Can anybody tell me where the game is, because I really want to go."

But they were all watching the first wizard, who seemed to be a leader - maybe the resident bully. So Harry sighed, finished his drink, and said, "Very well, I'll go."

But "Muggle!" was growled again, and then "Squib!" as he turned to leave. And then he heard the beginning syllables of a spell, and spun around furiously, drawing his own wand with lightning speed, and returned the spell to its originator. Furiously he said, "_Not _a muggle! _Not _a squib!" just in case anyone was left in doubt.

Wizards and witches were now staring at him, he was the centre of attention, exactly what he didn't want. But he was still angry, it may have been one bully, but all these spineless cowards had obviously had no intention of interfering, and he looked at them with some contempt.

A woman asked nervously, "Please, sir, what have you done to him?" She was kneeling by the man who'd been hurled to the floor, and was looking desperately worried.

"I returned whatever spell he threw at me - he'll be hurt to the extent that he tried to hurt me," Harry said, not knowing enough about the wizard to know whether that was a reassurance or not.

But the woman looked relieved and said, "He likes to erase memories - it rather serves him right, doesn't it?"

The wizard was already beginning to come round. But Harry had had enough of these people, and he turned and left, disgusted. What a welcome back to England, and what a welcome back to the wizarding world!

He was walking fast away from the pub, still limping slightly, but whirled around as he heard running footsteps behind him. There was no danger. One of the wizards from the pub was hailing him, "Excuse me, sir! Excuse me!"

Harry waited. He still wanted to know how to find the Quidditch game.

The wizard arrived, panting slightly, and held out his hand. "My name's Edward Frobisher," he said.

"Bellamy," said Harry briefly, although shaking the hand.

But Harry was a bit disturbed. Frobisher's eyes had seemed to be looking at his forehead, where that old identifying mark was. But surely the mark was so faded now, besides being disguised by his hair. He'd even developed the habit of using women's make-up over it every morning. He didn't know that that old scar could blaze into life when he was angry or fighting, and that his hair had whipped away from it as he had turned to face his attacker.

Frobisher had a strong suspicion that he knew exactly who this young man was, and was deeply ashamed that Harry Potter's return to England should be marred by such an event.

Frobisher was hesitant. He and his wife had tickets to the Quidditch game, and if this really was Harry Potter, he would be happy to give them up. But not if he was anyone else. He knew that there were no more tickets available, that they had been sold out weeks ago. In the end, he put off the decision, and asked Harry home for dinner instead, to make up for his rude welcome at the pub.

Harry craved contact with the wizarding world, the reason for his imprudent entry to the wizard pub. And maybe he was incautious now, as he replied, with a sudden frank smile, "Yes, I'd like that."

So Harry went home with Edward Frobisher, who asked him to call him 'Ned.' Harry abandoned suspicion for the time being, taking Ned to be just what he appeared, a bright, friendly chap, without guile.

When they arrived at his place, Ned took his wife aside, and whispered to her what he suspected. But his wife was not good at deceit, and first startled Harry by appearing terribly nervous of him, and then betrayed herself completely by calling him Mr. Potter, instead of Mr. Bellamy, or just 'Bellamy,' as he'd asked.

"Uh, yes," said Harry, giving up on disguise for the time being. This was a really nice couple, their two small children were well behaved, and Harry was enjoying their company. "Um, would you mind keeping that quiet for a while? I'd really like just a few weeks before it's known I'm back!"

That Harry Potter was under threat of death was no secret, and the Frobishers agreed, although Harry wondered how long the indiscreet tongue of the wife would last. (He did her an injustice, neither of the Frobishers breathed a word to anyone until his presence appeared in the newspapers not long after.)

Ned had effectively adopted Harry, for as long as Harry was willing. He pressed him to stay the night, and gave his wife's Quidditch ticket to him on the grounds that she'd never been much interested in Quidditch. And he was going with him tomorrow, to make sure that Harry found the match OK. He even found a wizard's robe for him to borrow, although Harry rejected the good clothing he was offered, in the interests of disguise, and selected a patched, brown robe, very different from the good quality black robes he used to wear at Hogwarts. He couldn't go to a Quidditch match in muggle jeans and jacket!

He tried to pay for his ticket, but Ned refused to hear of it. This was Harry Potter! What an honour to entertain Harry Potter!

It was a long time since Harry had been treated as a hero, and really preferred it when Ned forgot who he was, and they could just talk about common interests - mostly Quidditch, but he also raised the subject of the Ministry of Magic, learning that Cornelius Fudge, whom he regarded as a potentially dangerous enemy, was still the Minister.

The next morning, Harry smeared the make-up over his forehead again, and remembered to ask Ned how he had known who he was, and learned, to his regret, that his old scar, in the right circumstances, could still declare his identity to the world. It was lucky that this time, it appeared that only Ned Frobisher had noticed.

Ned and Harry found their seats in the stand, Harry roaring his excitement along with the rest of the crowd as the fast game proceeded. Although he tried to remember to be cautious, that he was surrounded by potential enemies, he found it increasingly difficult, as he followed every move of the game. Ron was now famed as one of the greats, according to Ned, and Harry was exultant, remembering Ron's first games when he had seemed to go only from bad to worse with nerves. Luckily, no-one paid the slightest attention to the average looking wizard in his worn brown robes.

The game finally ended, as the Seeker from Ron's team caught the Snitch. That thrilling chase at the end had Harry remembering the last match he had played at the age of sixteen. He had become sick not long after.

The wizards and witches filed down the stands, and Harry told Ned that he wanted to try and see Ron. Some of the players, including Ron, were found sitting at small tables signing autographs for the people queued up waiting.

Grinning to himself, Harry joined the end of the queue at Ron's table. Ron was popular, the queue at his table appeared to be longer than anyone's, even that of the Seeker. Ron had always craved recognition, and Harry was happy for him - Ron looked undeniably pleased with himself as his fans heaped praise on him.

Ron hadn't looked up as he took Harry's piece of paper, to provide him with the desired autograph, until the words, "Just make it out to Harry, please!" and he at last looked up, his mouth dropping open. And he was up, knocking over his table, and wrapping Harry in a bear hug that threatened to break ribs.

"Harry!" he said, "Harry!" until Harry said, "Hush, keep it down. I'm Bellamy now."

But Ron was overwhelmed, and stared at Harry still as if he couldn't believe it. Harry had been the last in his queue, and the rest of the players

had already packed up, so luckily no-one was close enough to hear Ron say, with a break in his voice, "Harry! I thought I'd never see you again."

Ned was standing nearby, and Harry introduced them. Ned was delighted. Not only had he entertained Harry Potter, he was talking to the famous Quidditch player, Ron Weasley! And there was another treat in store, for Ron asked them both to join them at the victory celebration that was now commencing, adding apologetically to Harry that he couldn't avoid the celebration, but that he was to come back to the Burrow with him afterward. There was nothing Harry craved more than to go to the Weasley family home, where Ginny and Ron still lived. So he picked up his backpack, and he and Ned left with Ron.

Neither Ned nor Ron noticed Harry's wary alertness, Harry had lived with danger so long that his caution was now a part of him. Ned could not have conceived the dangers which Harry had lived through, and Ron assumed that death threats were in the past. But Harry had dodged the most recent Death Curse when he rashly stayed a month in Finland, about eight months ago. Prior to that he had been in America, and discovered he was not safe there either. Dedicated killers apparently had an extensive spy network, and he hardly ever stayed anywhere for very long. His recent stay of almost six months in one place was an exception.

Ned, seeing Ron and Harry's animated conversation together, really thought that he should bow out, but the prospect of meeting all of his favourite Quidditch players was too great. After a bit, Harry remembered he was there, and broadened the conversation to include his newest friend as well as his oldest friend.

Harry soon saw that Ned was thoroughly happy just to be at the celebration party, where he seemed content to just stare at his idols. But two of the other players noticed that Ron was totally absorbed with his shabby friend, and took Ned under their wing. So Ned had a wonderful time, and Ron and Harry were allowed to catch up on nearly four years of separation.

At length, Ron felt that they had stayed at the party long enough. Ned was leaving too, and Harry offered him his robe back, which he was wearing over his jeans and shirt, his jacket now folded into the backpack. But Ned insisted he keep it, and as it was old and tattered and useful for disguise, Harry gratefully accepted.

Of course, he could have conjured clothes - just about anything can be conjured, but unfortunately, conjured things have a habit of suddenly vanishing, anytime from a few minutes to a few months after they were made, depending on the wizard. It could be quite embarrassing when clothes abruptly vanished!

So Ron and Harry apparated to the Burrow, where they crept upstairs, it being very late, and talked for another two hours. There was a lot to catch up on. Ron was a qualified auror now, and Ginny was in her last year of training to be an auror, too. Hermione, Harry learned, was nearly finished the four years of the training to be a Healer.

Harry had to admit that he had no career, that although he had travelled all over the world, he hardly ever stayed in one place long enough even to get a job. And thinking that Ron had to be warned, Harry said, "I've still got to be careful, you know - there're still people after me."

Ron said, "It's been four years!"

But Harry said, "If I stay in a place longer than a few weeks, and sometimes not even that, they find out, and I'm dodging spells again. But they didn't find me in the last place, and now with this new scar on my face, it might be better."

Ron was silent for a time. It looked like Harry was not going to be able to stay around for very long. And while Ron had made a good life for himself, he would have liked his old friend back, although not nearly as much as his old friend wanted to come back. He asked, "How'd you get that scar, anyhow? An attack?"

But Harry shook his head, "No, my horse was galloping, and put a foot in a rabbit hole. Cut my face when I fell. That's why I'm limping, too - broke my leg, and it's not quite healed yet."

Ron was a bit surprised, "How long ago was that?"

"Ten weeks," said Harry.

"Ten weeks!" exclaimed Ron. "Why didn't you fix it?"

"You forget - I can't take spells. It was a pest, though - it seemed so long!"

Ron suddenly said, "That scar'll mess you up with the girls!" For Harry's friends had tended to watch in bemusement as he effortlessly got himself seduced with monotonous regularity. Women thought he was cute, he told people who asked, and who was he to argue?

But Harry was laughing, and said, "I don't think so - here I was just out of muggle hospital, in a little bedsit, helpless with my leg still in plaster, and the sister of the landlady decided I needed consoling..."

Ron, picturing it, laughed so hard that Harry said, "Shhh! You'll wake somebody!"

The friends talked on until they were both yawning, and Ron finally provided a mattress on the floor for his guest, and they went to bed.

_**x**_

It was Sunday morning, and Ron was up, but he left Harry to sleep. Harry was lying on his front, face turned to the side, and in the warm June night, he had thrust his blankets away. He looked fit and muscular, his shoulders and back more solid than when Ron had last seen him. He was brown with exposure to the sun, and a thin white scar showed curving down the left side of his ribs until it was lost to view under a pair of sleeping shorts. One of his legs looked strong, tanned, but the left one was a little thin and much whiter, as it was not long since the plaster had come off.

Ron told his parents who was in his room upstairs, and they were thrilled, and waited impatiently for Harry to wake up. But when Ron told Ginny, she squealed and raced straight up the stairs to see him. She flung open the bedroom door, and Harry sprang up, wand flying to his hand.

But Ginny simply hurled herself into his arms, crying out his name, so that he dropped his wand and hugged her instead.

But Harry was no longer the childhood friend she had known - he was now a thoroughly attractive and highly sexual young man, which, in his half nude state, became immediately obvious.

Ginny backed away blushing, and Harry quickly turned away to pull on his jeans. And Ginny said, confused, "Sorry, sorry, I shouldn't have done that," but Harry looked back over his shoulder, and said, grinning wickedly "You can do it again if you like - I don't mind!"

Ron was at the door, watching - although he hadn't seen exactly what happened, he wasn't stupid, and while Harry was still smiling, Ginny was crimson.

Harry went off to shower, and make himself presentable, using his casual magic to make dirty clothes instantly clean and fresh again, and went downstairs to the very warm welcome he received from the older Weasleys.

Mrs. Weasley hugged him fiercely to her the moment he appeared, to the pleasure of Harry who regarded her as almost a mother. Even then, she wasn't satisfied, and would touch or pat him whenever she was close. Mr. Weasley shook his hand vigorously, patting him on the back at the same time. It had been so long that Harry had been away from these people he loved that he lapped up the attention. Ginny didn't come close to him again, but she was intensely aware of him, as he was of her.

Fred and George Weasley were sent messages that Harry was home, with the warning that it was to stay strictly secret. They were to come as soon as possible, have lunch, and stay as long as they wanted. The older brothers, Bill and Charlie, were both overseas. But Hermione Granger, Ron and Harry's particular friend from school, would definitely be coming.

Someone said, "What about Percy?" but without much said, it was decided not to tell Percy. Although Percy was one of the Weasley brothers too, he could not be trusted. He was still personal assistant to the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Telling Percy, Harry thought, was the same as telling the Ministry, and telling the Ministry was the same as telling the world.

Hermione arrived, apparating in front of the house, with a loud bang, followed closely by two more bangs as Fred and George appeared. Their friend, Harry Potter, was back, and they couldn't get enough of him. So Harry told some of his experiences, in between seeking information on old friends. Neville Longbottom, for instance, was working in Herbology, and large, black Dean Thomas was an Interior Decorator. Seamus Finnigan had gone from job to job, and no-one was quite sure what he was doing now.

Harry's casual conjuring came in very handy as Mrs. Weasley decided to have lunch outside, and conjuring new furniture, to be vanished afterward, was easier than to bring out the inside furniture. Although many wizards could conjure chairs or other items for themselves when needed, Harry seemed to be able to conjure anything he chose, as easily as breathing, and without having to remember difficult spells. Harry's magic was in a class of its own, not having apparently suffered in the slightest for lack of practice during the years he had lived in the muggle world.

Lunch was a happy meal, although Mrs. Weasley now, as well as Ron, had become aware of the electricity in the air that seemed to fizzle between Harry and Ginny. They seldom even looked at each other, and never came close enough that they might touch. But Ginny sometimes coloured for no apparent reason, and tended to lose the thread of the conversation. And Harry was sometimes abstracted, once showing an expression of such sadness that Mrs. Weasley noticed and gave him an extra hug, causing Harry to look up in surprise, and not again show anything but simple happiness to be exactly where he was.

In the afternoon, the young people, even Hermione, mounted broomsticks and played in the air, zooming around, diving, and whizzing in between trees.

The others soon learned to steer clear of Harry. His superlative skill on a broomstick was a thing of the past. He had a handicap that dated back to the death of the Dark Wizard, Lord Voldemort. And while on foot, his tendency to fall or stagger to the left was hardly ever discernible any more, his broomstick would constantly veer in that direction, making him a bit of a hazard to be near, especially as he still liked to go very fast. And even the old shaggy broomstick supplied by the Weasleys seemed to go very fast for Harry.

Ron, of course, was expert now, and so was Ginny, although she had not continued with the sport once she left school.

It was late afternoon, and Hermione as well as Fred and George had left. Ron and Harry were still sitting outside. They were both quiet after the constant chatter and laughter of the day. Harry's eyes were following the movements of Ginny as she helped her mother clear the tables, which were still littered with the debris from a generous afternoon tea. Ron was watching him. Suddenly, impulsively, aggressively, he said to his oldest friend, "You're not to hurt her!"

Harry looked around in surprise at the sudden harsh words. But Harry had an intuitive sensitivity, and he straightaway discerned the love for his sister that impelled the sudden words. Instead of taking offence, he merely said, "Of course not." And as they continued to sit, he explained a little further. "You know how it is with me - I doubt if I'll be able to stay around very long, maybe only a couple of weeks, maybe not even that. And one day they're going to get me. It sometimes amazes me that I'm still alive."

Harry had seldom spoken to anyone about this that he felt - that he just couldn't lead a normal life. Ron listened, and Harry continued. "You think it's funny, these women that I go with. But they're all older women, who take me for what I'm offering. We have a good time together, and as far as I know, I never leave them hurting."

Ron said, "But Ginny's not an older woman, and you want her - I can see it."

"I can't have her. And if she doesn't know that yet, she will the next time I have to dodge a Death Curse," Harry concluded in a matter of fact tone.

But Ron was looking at him as if he'd never really seen him before. This dispassionate way of looking at the probability of sudden death was alien to him.

***chapter end***


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. K. Rowling_.

_Chapter 2_:

Harry stayed again that night with the Weasleys, but refused to stay longer. Wherever Harry was, sooner or later Dark Wizards would be after him. And as Edward Frobisher had seen through his disguise not two hours after he arrived back in England, he had little expectation that he could go unrecognised for long. Anyway, he had his own house, Sirius Black's old house. And although he didn't actually like it very much, it was very safe, very hidden.

So Monday, he apparated straight into his own house. This used to belong to the Black family, Dark Wizards for generations. But Harry had spent a month there after leaving school, and in that time, had vanished all those ancient relics of dark magic, replaced some of the ugly furniture with his own conjured items, and vanished most of the portraits, even the ones that others had failed to get rid of.

He left one painting in the hall, it was of a landscape that looked vaguely familiar to Harry, even though he couldn't remember the place. There was another that he'd removed from his bedroom, too, that of Phineas Nigellus, great, great grandfather to Sirius Black, and a past headmaster at Hogwarts. This painting had the potential to be useful as there was another portrait of Nigellus in Dumbledore's office, and the painted image had the freedom to move between his own portraits, which meant that quick messages could be sent to Dumbledore. But Harry disliked Nigellus with his sly voice, and, while he didn't get rid of the portrait, it was relegated to an obscure bedroom.

There had been certain extra security measures taken. With Dumbledore's help, he had put an anti-apparation charm over the whole house, leaving only one small area available to apparate, known only to himself, Dumbledore and to two house-elves, the pair, Dobby and Winky.

He had also boarded up the fireplace. He could have applied to have the house taken out of the Floo network, but that would have meant drawing attention to its existence. But he remembered the commotion when Arthur Weasley had tried to apparate into a blocked fireplace, and thought that if anyone tried it, the noise would give him ample time to deal with an enemy.

He was surprised to see his conjured furniture still there, as conjured items normally never last more than a few months, sometimes a lot less. He had conjured a hospital bed long ago for Madam Pomfrey, but the gesture was really only symbolic, and the bed had been quickly removed to a store room. After all, it would not be good for a hospital patient to be abruptly dumped on the floor!

His house appeared clean and didn't have that abandoned feel he was expecting. He wondered if Dobby and Winky, the house-elves, might not be looking in now and then to keep it clean and fresh.

He strolled around the rooms for a time that Monday, thinking, not really knowing what to do with himself. How far could he trust his disguise, he wondered. There were people he wanted to call on, visits he wanted to make, business he wanted to do. He needed to go to Gringotts Bank, in Diagon Alley, but to make a withdrawal meant admitting his identity, and his relative safety only lasted as long as his anonymity.

In the end, he decided to make his visits first, as secretly as possible. And only then indulge his desire to stroll around Diagon Alley, as he had not been able to do since he was a boy of thirteen.

An owl flew in the open window, and he turned to welcome his own beautiful Snowy Owl, Hedwig. Hedwig had been left with Hermione when he'd gone away, and he was overjoyed to see her again. Hedwig was overjoyed too, hooting softly, cuddling up close as she sat on his shoulder, every now and then nudging him with her head.

After a time, he noticed the note attached to her foot. Although Hedwig was a conscientious post owl, it seemed that she had forgotten it, too. It was only a note from Hermione, though, saying that he should keep Hedwig with him as long as he was in England. He had not concealed his intention of leaving again before long, although his friends were still not convinced of the need.

Harry really never wanted to leave ever again. It was very lonely sometimes, being in exile from the world he knew, and for a moment, as he stroked his owl, his eyes were wet.

He wanted to take full advantage of his current anonymity, and after lunch in a muggle pub, apparated to a place he knew next to the wall of Hogwarts, where a strong creeper led over the wall. The wall had been made 'unclimbable' by means of spells, but Harry had gone over the wall many times when he had been a student, and did so again.

He had a sense of coming home as he entered the familiar grounds. The students were all at classes and the grounds were deserted, but Harry knew exactly where he wanted to go, and made his way quietly through the shelter of the trees, to the hut of Hagrid, the grounds Keeper, and teacher of Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid was not exactly renowned for his discretion, and yet Harry wanted very much to see his giant friend again. It was Hagrid who had first taken him away from his dismal life with the muggle Dursleys, and Hagrid who had been his friend all through his school days.

Luckily, Hagrid didn't seem to have a class at the moment - he was working in a garden behind his hut, turning over the soil in the warm sun. Harry, in his shabby brown robe, brown hair instead of black, inconspicuous glasses, and the new scar on his face, was well disguised. So when he came up behind Hagrid, and called him by name, Hagrid stared at him, uncomprehendingly.

"It's Harry," Harry said, "Don't you know me?"

"Harry? Harry?" croaked Hagrid, finally wrapping him in an even more forceful bear embrace than Ron had done. Hagrid was overcome, and when he took Harry into his hut, was apt to just sit and stare at him in wonder.

It was rather hard going making conversation with the big man who kept sniffling with emotion just because he was still alive. But then there was a knock on the door, and Harry trusted to his disguise as Hagrid went to answer it. But Professor Dumbledore's eyes went straight to the shabby figure in the corner, and Harry went to him, smiling. Dumbledore appeared almost as overcome as Hagrid.

"How did you know I was here?" asked Harry.

"Ah, let's just say that's one of my little mysteries," said Professor Dumbledore, re-erecting the mystique that was almost as much of a pose as the cool composure that Harry could maintain when he chose.

Dumbledore suggested that Harry come to his office for a time, but Harry said that it was too likely he'd be recognised - Hagrid's hut was better. When he mentioned that he wouldn't mind saying hello to Professor McGonnagal, though, Hagrid went off to get her, Harry remembering to stress to the indiscreet giant that his name was Henry Bellamy, and that he was absolutely not to tell anyone but Professor McGonnagal that he was here.

"How long are you planning on staying?" asked Dumbledore.

"Until the first Death Curse comes at me," said Harry, simply.

"But surely they'd have given up by now," said Dumbledore.

"Maybe it's a hobby for them," said Harry. "The problem is that they hardly ever suffer any repercussions, as they instantly disapparate, so I can't catch them. What I'd like to do is hit their own curse back at them - I think I can be quick enough for that - but I expect I'd be in trouble."

Dumbledore said, out of his own compassionate humanity, "But would you really _kill_, Harry?"

Harry said softly, "Yes, I'll kill! I think I'm going to have to kill, if I want to be left to live."

Dumbledore was looking at him, concern written all over his face, so that Harry reassured him, "I've only ever caught a few. And all I've done so far is to take their wands, leave them stunned for the muggle policeman, and wish on them a lifetime of boils!"

Dumbledore smiled at the boils, thinking it a real schoolboys' trick, but he was concerned that Harry was willing to kill.

"Harry, you must not start killing. It makes you as bad as they are. Surely you can just capture them and notify the Ministry."

But Harry said, "I live as anonymously as possible, in the muggle world, in countries where I usually don't even know any wizards. How can I notify the Ministry?"

Hagrid and Professor McGonnagal arrived then, and Harry was pleased to greet the stern teacher, who had, more than once, been driven half sick with worry for him.

When he decided it was time to leave, Dumbledore chose to go with him. As Harry hadn't signed in at the gate, he said to Dumbledore that he'd best leave discreetly too.

Dumbledore strolled with him as he looped through the trees, looking comfortably at home, and came to the tree that led over the 'unclimbable' wall. He turned to Dumbledore, said a simple Good-bye, and the old headmaster watched, bemused, as Harry casually climbed over the unclimbable wall, and waved a final good-bye before jumping easily down the other side. (He had Hagrid test the 'unclimbable' spell on the wall, later, with a half dozen athletic students, but none could climb over.)

Later that day, Harry was sitting in a muggle pub in a muggle town, as he'd decided to do earlier. It had been some days since he'd left Susan, and he'd gone with the intention of finding someone to go to bed with. But instead of being aware of the company, and a woman was already looking at him with distinct interest, he was staring at his glass of beer, thinking about Dumbledore, and, more particularly, how Dumbledore had looked when he had said that he would be willing to kill. Was it really so bad to kill someone who was trying to kill you? He had told a healer a long time ago, that he didn't wish to be a sacrifice! And he still didn't want to be a sacrifice, he thought. If surviving meant killing, then, he concluded, he was willing to kill. And his eyes did that familiar wary glance around that would warn him of oncoming danger.

After that conclusion, he should have been free to start thinking of his original errand, but, instead, his thoughts turned to Ginny, and he indulged in a rare interlude of thinking "If only..." If things had been different, he knew, he could have loved Ginny, in a way that had little to do with casual sex, enormously enjoyable though that might be. And when, in spite of his apparent abstraction, a lively-looking young woman came and asked if she could join him, he looked at her blankly a moment, before coming to himself, and welcoming her. His philosophy for years had been that if you can't have what you'd really like, then enjoy what you can have. So he stayed with Libby that night, and rarely left her side for the next three days.

Friday, trusting to his disguise, he went to Diagon Alley, and visited Fred and George's Joke Shop, where he was welcomed as 'Bellamy.' He was fascinated to see the array of wares, many of which he remembered from when the twins were developing them. No-one had given him a second glance, and according to the twins, there was no talk yet of his having returned. He was beginning to feel more confident.

It had been so long since he'd been in Diagon Alley, and he was delighted to be here again. His wariness was such a part of him that it didn't stop him enjoying life. He relished his double ice-cream, never having outgrown his liking for that treat, and watched the passing parade from his chosen seat, his back to the wall.

He saw several people he knew, but none gave him a second glance. He contentedly finished his ice-cream, and strolled off down the street. He didn't need to buy anything in particular, so he did some window-shopping, admiring the look of the latest broomstick to hit the market, and finally meandered into a bookstore.

Here there was a bit of a shock waiting for him, as looking straight back at him from the wall was a life-size picture of himself. The photograph, which he didn't remember ever seeing before, showed him as he had looked when he was about sixteen. A slight youth with a shock of black hair, and black-rimmed glasses, he was leaning against a wall, somewhere, looking rather thin, his expression inscrutable. As a magic picture, it was supposed to move, but all he saw the image do was to flick its eyes warily around now and then - just as he still did.

He glanced down, and saw, directly under the poster, a pile of books about Harry Potter, one lot with that same picture on the front, another lot showing a wizard riding a broomstick, wearing Gryffindor Quidditch robes, and others too. But this was danger. His disguise wasn't so good that he could stand next to a picture of himself without risk. So carefully, showing nothing but casual interest in his surroundings, he strolled out of the shop again. But one young woman stared after him, speculation in her eyes.

There was worse to come. As Harry moved away from the bookstore, he found himself walking right past Draco Malfoy. Neither Harry nor Malfoy made the slightest sign of recognition, and yet Harry felt certain that Malfoy had known him instantly. He turned a corner, found momentary solitude, and disapparated back to Sirius Black's place.

He did some thinking and experimenting when he got home. He had thought that his 'Bellamy' disguise would be more useful, once word got around, if he alternated it with a more familiar guise, only resuming 'Bellamy' on occasions when he needed it. His hair could be brown or black, with the aid of a wig, or dye, his clothes and glasses were easily enough exchanged, but that new scar, still livid, could become as obvious an identifying mark as the zig zag scar on his forehead had been. He tried concealing make-up over the cheek scar, but it seemed it was just too prominent to be easily concealed.

He really needed to go to Gringotts Bank. He had plenty of money in his vault for many years to come, considerably more years, in fact, than Harry thought he had much hope of achieving. But to access his money, he had to go to Gringotts. And Gringotts, in the interest of their own security, didn't make it easy to be discreet. It was well known that you could not apparate within the structure, and they were not even connected to the Floo Network.

Harry shelved this problem for the time being, and gave priority to making a few visits - cautiously. Twenty-one year old Harry was still alive because his speed of reaction was lightning fast - but he also took as many precautions as possible. One of his routines was that of putting a charm around himself whenever he went out - no-one could apparate within a five yard radius around him.

Sunday morning, Harry Potter, with black hair again, and black rimmed glasses, limped up to the door of 4 Privet Drive, and rang the doorbell. Vernon and Petunia Dursley were taken aback to see their long gone nephew on the doorstep, but their fear of magic and wizards meant that he was welcomed politely, and invited to join them for a cup of tea.

Harry had thought about whether he really wanted to see the Dursleys again, but Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister, and their son Dudley was his cousin. They were the only family he had. He was not likely to seek their company often, but they hadn't treated him too badly the last couple of years he lived with them. He wanted to keep in touch.

He had so little in common with his aunt and uncle that conversation was almost impossible until he asked about Dudley. Aunt Petunia was not proof against this, and she told him how well Dudley was doing, working with the same company as his father, how he was engaged to be married, and how he had become even better looking in the last few years.

At length, Harry asked where he could find Dudley, as he wanted to catch up. His aunt was reluctant to give him this information, apparently thinking that he might be a threat to her darling boy, but he looked at her with a level gaze, and, despite herself, she gave him the required address.

Harry took his leave, saying good-bye with the same cool veneer he had shown throughout, but, quite suddenly, at the last, as they stood just outside the door, maybe making sure that he was really leaving, his sense of humour took over, and he suddenly grinned at them, "Don't worry - I won't come often!"

Harry studied the address in his hand. He didn't know where it was, and he didn't have apparation coordinates so that he could travel in that very convenient fashion, so he resolved to take a taxi. But first he made short visits to other friends, Mrs. Figg, who lived a short stroll away, and then to the Evans' coffee shop, where he planned to have lunch, but mostly catch up with Ruth and John Evans, who had been so good to him when he'd been a solitary teenager with a bad reputation.

Mrs. Figg was overjoyed to see him, and easily undertook not to divulge his presence in the country. The visit to the Evans was equally enjoyable. They were particularly pleased to see him looking strong and healthy - he had worked for them one summer holiday, and he'd been small for his age then, but they remembered him even more clearly from the following year, when he'd looked so feeble after a long illness.

And then Harry went to find his cousin Dudley. His relations with Dudley, whom he'd lived with since they were both babies, had seldom been easy. Large Dudley had made his life a torment when he'd been small, and his gang had once given Harry a terrible beating. And yet he'd come to an understanding with Dudley, and Dudley was his only cousin.

He found him in his flat with his fiancée, a slight young woman with vibrant red hair. Celia reminded him of Ginny, and Harry took to her at once. Harry and Dudley had little in common, aside from a liking for muscle stretching exercise, and Dudley soon took Harry off to his new gym that he'd made for himself in a spare bedroom. It was the first time Harry had been in a gymnasium for years, but he was pleased to find that he was as strong or stronger than he'd been before he went away.

The cousins worked together at the exercise machines for a time, in silence, and afterward Dudley surprised Harry by asking him to his wedding in three months time. Harry was pleased and rather touched, even though he had to say that it was unlikely he'd still be in the country in three months time.

Monday, it was time to take himself to the bank. Harry was already getting nervous about his stay in London - he always took notice of the warning bells that seemed to start ringing when he was in danger, and had often discreetly left a scene without even knowing for sure whether there really was any danger or not. There had also been occasions, however, when he had found himself in sudden extreme danger, without any warning bells at all. And yet again, he put off the visit to the bank.

Instead he visited a middle sized city a long way from London. He was looking for a hairdresser to re-dye his hair, as the mid-brown colour was growing out. And this was where he found Rachel, who was to have some importance in his life. Rachel was a hairdresser, a muggle of course, and as Harry put up with the long and tedious process of having his hair dyed, he studied her. She was only a few years older than himself, but what really took his interest was that he could see from the texture of her face that one cheek had been badly damaged by burns, and yet the colour had been carefully blended so that it was inconspicuous.

He was not interested in a seduction - he was still regularly visiting Libby. What he wanted was advice on make-up! There were other hair dressers and customers in the shop, so he chose not to mention anything then, but he made sure that included in his casual conversation with Rachel was a mention of when she was off duty.

He was leaning against a wall, waiting for her as she left work. He had been undecided how to approach her, knowing that she was likely to be very self-conscious about her own need for concealing make-up. But Harry Potter was willing to put quite some effort into living as long as possible, and when he spoke to her as she passed, he was very polite. "Excuse me, Rachel," he said, hesitantly, "Look, I'd like some advice about something. May I buy you a coffee so we can talk a little?"

Rachel looked at him. Many women would have assumed that this was just another pick up line, but Rachel thought herself ugly and undesirable, and took him at face value - he wanted advice. She was also quite shrewd, and, after dying his perfectly good black hair to brown, she had a suspicion that the ugly scar on his cheek might have something to do with this unusual request.

Still, she hesitated, and he added, an appeal in his eyes, "Please?"

No woman was proof against Harry Potter, and she was suddenly aware of his attraction. But she put the usual strong guard on her own feelings, and gave him all the help she could, unstintingly. She was a good and generous woman, and she loaned him some make-up, told him exactly what to buy, and even took him home and demonstrated. So the great fighting wizard studied himself in front of a mirror, and applied and re-applied women's make-up until the scarred cheek showed almost as unblemished as the other one.

But when he asked about black hair dye that could be washed straight out, as he wanted to alternate his appearance, she suddenly asked him, "You're not wanted by the law, are you."

He replied honestly, "Not by the law, no - but some people want me dead - and I want to stay alive."

Rachel gave him all the help he needed that day, and he was very grateful.

Tuesday, he did some shopping, then used the temporary dye to render his dyed hair black again, and carefully applied the concealing make-up as he'd been taught, to disguise that new scar, not touching the old one. He now looked like the Harry Potter that people knew. He had come to the conclusion that as he'd have to admit his identity at the bank in any case, he might as well look like himself, and preserve the benefits of his 'Bellamy' disguise for other occasions.

It was just then, mid morning, as Harry, thoroughly nervous, knowing the risks, prepared to go to the bank, that there was a sudden shriek of joy in his own kitchen, and a small creature was hugging his legs. "Hello, Dobby," said Harry Potter, smiling down at the house-elf. Dobby was responsible for the house being in such good order, and Harry was very grateful, as well as having a considerable affection for the small creature. He sat down and talked to Dobby for a few minutes, but he had something dangerous to do, and was not willing to put it off any longer.

Dressed in a good quality black wizard's robe, wearing the black rimmed glasses that he'd always worn, Harry Potter apparated as close to the bank as he could, and without hesitation, entered. As expected, his business lasted a while. He wanted to arrange banking facilities in several cities worldwide, and needed to rearrange some investments besides. With the fortune left to him by Sirius Black, as well as the gold left to him by his parents, Harry was a wealthy young man - which was lucky, as it would have been very difficult for him to earn his living.

At length his business was concluded, and as he had expected, getting home safely was going to be the problem. The goblins had warned him that word of his presence had spread, and that a crowd, including reporters and photographers had gathered outside the door.

The security goblins had not allowed many people into the bank after they realised that there was a potential problem, but they also refused to admit that there might be any sort of a back entrance where Harry could exit discreetly.

Goblins are not renowned for their loving kindness, and Harry hadn't expected any real help from them, but he did persuade the security goblins to clear a space outside around the doorway to give him a chance to get away. When that was done, he walked quickly out the door, slantwise, unblemished cheek to the crowd, and silently disapparated at full stride. Two green streaks of light, Death Curses, slammed into the wall where he'd been an instant before, followed immediately by the loud cracks that usually go with disapparation.

There had been another flash of light too, and a photographer knew with glee that he had the photo of a lifetime.

Harry, back at his own house, didn't know yet whether there had been any more dangerous people than autograph hounds waiting for him, but he would have thought himself a fool to have waited to find out. He was very relieved to be back safely.

The following morning, the Daily Prophet carried their photograph of Harry vanishing, as streaks of light slammed into the wall. It was fascinating to look at, like a very short movie strip - Harry takes a stride, vanishes, and wham, there were the spells, again and again, as long as you wanted to look at it.

Ginny looked at it, again and again, and finally took a day off work to spend the day crying instead. As Harry had said, 'I can't have her. And if she doesn't know that yet, she will the next time I have to dodge a Death Curse.' Harry had no future in England, and very likely no future at all. And Ginny, with the instinct of a woman who needs a mate, knew that he was not a prospect for love and marriage. She avoided seeing him again, and started dating a staid professor of history.

Edward and Michelle Bellamy saw the picture, and were finally able to boast that they'd entertained Harry Potter, but were still wise enough not to give details of his disguised appearance, and name.

Harry's friends saw the picture, and now believed what he had said about being under constant threat.

And Professor Dumbledore saw the picture, and remembered what Harry had said about staying in England. Harry had said that he would stay 'Until the first Death Curse comes at me.' Harry had said that he would kill, and Dumbledore didn't want Harry to kill. Dumbledore believed that each time a man kills, whatever the reason, a part of himself is lost. And he remembered the vivid, laughing boy that Harry had been in the last few months of his stay at Hogwarts, and decided, if it was not too late already, to take steps to get that boy back.

That was why when Harry turned down the street to his house, returning from his usual evening meal at a muggle pub, he found Professor Dumbledore already there, and apparently about to ring the doorbell. Harry was very pleased to see the old wizard - there was no-one he liked and respected more.

He took Dumbledore into his living room, where they sat on his comfortable conjured chairs, and had a comfortable chat into the evening. This room was very different from the gloomy dark room that it had been before Harry had done his re-decorating. Unfortunately, Harry was very bad at interior design, and the room looked oddly stark, with occasional flashes of mismatched colour. But Dumbledore remembered the Gryffindor common room turned a livid, hideous pink by Harry, on a day of celebration, four and a half years before, and thought that, comparatively speaking, it really wasn't too bad.

Harry had still not purchased any groceries in his temporary home, and could only offer bottled butter beer to his guest. But Dumbledore took out his wand, and conjured an array of tempting cakes and biscuits.

"How d'you do that?" Harry asked. "I've tried and tried food, and it never seems to work." So Dumbledore tried some instruction, and Harry practised, finally managing something that tasted a little better than sawdust - just not much. And Dumbledore finally admitted that even his own food, though tasting as it should, had no food value, and told Harry something that Harry had never heard before - that the few wizards who could conjure food, could nevertheless starve to death if they tried living on it.

Dumbledore finally took out his copy of the Daily Prophet, and asked Harry if he'd yet seen it.

Harry studied the picture, feeling little emotion. There had been so many narrow escapes, and this was just another. He'd known he'd be in the paper, having been told that there were reporters and photographers waiting for him. What was more important to him was that the scar on his left cheek didn't show, there was no mention of a limp, and when he carefully read the article, there was no hint of 'Bellamy,' and no clue to his disguise. "I might be safe as Bellamy for a few more days," he concluded, aloud.

Professor Dumbledore finally came to the point of his visit - he asked Harry if he would take a position at Hogwarts as an assistant teacher. Harry said immediately that he was not qualified, as he had when Dumbledore had made the offer before he left school. But Dumbledore gently spoke about his potential usefulness in Muggle Studies, his teaching of the DA club, and his superlative skill at any and all spells.

Harry was listening, his face inscrutable, and a turmoil within. Professor Dumbledore never referred to his excellent results in his final exams, knowing as well as Harry that they were a farce, that his results had been given to him because of his defeat of the Dark Wizard Voldemort, not because he had earned the marks. His health had been so poor for much of the final two years of his schooling, that he had never been able to make up the time he had lost.

Harry rose and leaned against the white stone wall. He was still silent, and Professor Dumbledore, who was usually so good at reading minds, had not the slightest idea what he was thinking or feeling. He talked on, willing Harry to concede, knowing that he was battling against Harry's reluctance to accept what he thought of as charity. He spoke about his need for an extra teacher to look after homework groups, and to take over classes when the usual teacher was sick, and how Hagrid needed help, too, with his dual roles of Grounds Keeper and teacher. Dumbledore knew how fond Harry was of Hagrid.

Harry had to work hard not to show his raging emotions. The longer he stayed in England, the more he realised how deeply lonely he'd been everywhere else. He had made one good friend when he had worked at his last job, rash, redheaded Ben, who reminded him of Ron, and who was so good at enjoying himself. Ben had become a close companion, but when you keep a large part of your life secret from a friend, the friendship is tainted.

At Hogwarts he would be far safer than anywhere else, he would have the companionship he craved, and, he admitted to himself, he'd really enjoyed those times when he'd secretly taught defence to other students. He'd been an effective teacher.

Finally he said, interrupting Dumbledore, who was still adding whatever persuasive arguments he could come up with. "Yes, please."

Dumbledore looked at him in absolute surprise. The longer he had talked, the more hopeless he had felt, and now the old professor impulsively rose and took Harry in his arms, and pulled him close.

"Thank you," said Dumbledore to Harry as if it was Harry bestowing the favour.

It was Harry's turn to be surprised. Albus Dumbledore always maintained a serene calm, and this demonstration was uncharacteristic. But Harry didn't really comprehend the deep love that Dumbledore had developed for him over the years, as he had watched Harry cope with his difficult destiny. When Harry added, "But only for bed and board. You know I'm not really qualified, I can't even remember the incantations for most of the spells I was ever taught," Dumbledore agreed, not willing to do anything to hinder this unexpected concession from Harry Potter. He had fully expected Harry's pride to win over his sense. Like Harry he knew his lack of qualifications for the job.

Before Harry could change his mind, Dumbledore took his leave, thinking that this was the second time that Harry had bested him with his pose of calm. The last time had been when Harry had casually told him that Voldemort had been beaten up by a pair of muggles - and Dumbledore had spilt his tea!

Meantime, Harry, left inside Sirius Black's house that he'd never liked, was staring at the wall. And now a storm of emotions passed across his face. He could stay in England, he could go on seeing his friends, he might never be able to fully relax his guard, but he would live at Hogwarts, and he had loved Hogwarts from the moment he arrived.

On the other hand, he was convinced that he was accepting charity. He was not qualified to be a teacher, Dumbledore was just trying to keep him alive. But after all, he had killed Voldemort, maybe the wizarding world did owe him some help. He'd been given an Order of Merlin, First Class, but what use was that? And he'd been given it by Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, after a speech that referred to the potential dangers of powerful wizards, and he'd known that Fudge had been talking about the potential danger of Harry Potter, not the past danger of Lord Voldemort. The medal had been tossed unceremoniously in his trunk - he didn't know now even where it was.

Professor Dumbledore, like Harry, knew that by conventional standards, Harry would never have been considered for any sort of teaching duties. But Dumbledore had a habit of making unconventional hiring decisions, and they had nearly always worked out very well. And Harry Potter was a wizard whose abilities appeared to be unique in his generation, probably in many generations. He thought that Harry would be an enormous asset to his school, once he'd gained a little confidence.

To begin with, though, his role was to be as a teacher's assistant, and he was to be known merely as Mr. Potter, not Professor Potter.

***chapter end***


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. K. Rowling_.

_Important Note:__ When Harry was hit by a Death Curse at the age of 16, he was left with a sensivity to spells. A stunner can kill him, and even a lesser spell can make him very ill. _

_Chapter 3_:

Harry had been thoroughly sick of his nomad life, and was now absolutely delighted to be making plans for a future. Once the current school year finished, Dumbledore said that he would arrange some rooms for Harry, and then he could move in there as soon as he wanted - that he was absolutely not to wait until September, when the new school year started, but that preferably he was to be there by the end of July, in a little over a month's time. Professor Dumbledore himself was going to instruct him in his new duties, and Harry, knowing perfectly well how unprepared he was for teaching duties, could only be grateful.

Harry's friends were thrilled to think that Harry was going to stay in England after all. But Harry continued very cautious - he had some purchases to make before he started his new job, but he would apparate close to the shop, make his purchases, and disapparate from within the shop without delay.

Where possible, he used muggle shops, in muggle towns a long way from London, where he was less likely to be recognised. Harry's elaborate precautions were now as much a part of him as his wary alertness.

He had once demanded of Dumbledore, 'When am I going to be _free?'_ That was just days after he had killed Voldemort, when he found himself still in constant danger. He knew now that he might never be free - but life lived in danger is still a life to be enjoyed, and Harry Potter was very good at enjoying himself.

He provided himself with some new robes, good quality black robes for normal use, and another brown robe for when he appeared as Bellamy. He bought a set of dress robes, in deep green as Mrs. Weasley suggested. He needed muggle clothes, too - faded jeans and worn out T-shirts had their place, they'd been good when he'd tried to fade into the background as just another backpacker. But now being inconspicuous demanded a different sort of clothing. He was broader across the shoulders now than he'd been when he left, and few of his old clothes still fitted.

Oddly, the item that gave him the most pleasure when he bought it, was an appointments diary. For now he could make future plans, and he noted in it the dates of Hermione's graduation as a mediwizard, Ginny's graduation as an auror, and the date of Dudley's wedding. And with the greatest pleasure, he noted the date of his move to Hogwarts. 2nd August, days after his 22nd birthday. Ginny's graduation was next week, and there was not really the slightest need to write it down - he was not going to forget that.

He'd decided he would probably be safe to go to Ginny's graduation - surely there would be no attempts to kill him when he was at an auror gathering. Any competent auror should have been able to see through his disguise anyway, so he decided to go as himself. He wanted to keep 'Henry Bellamy' secret from Ministry aurors.

Ginny's graduation was to be held outside, in a usually lonely park that had had temporary muggle repelling charms put on. Only two aurors were graduating that year, but the function was to be combined with other certificate and award presentations. Harry was preparing. He had used the temporary hair dye again, to render his still brown hair back to black, and was now looking closely at the scar on his cheek. He thought it was further fading, and hoped that it would fade to white as other scars had done. Carefully, as Rachel had taught him, he used the muggle make-up to render it inconspicuous. Then he apparated to the coordinates supplied in the invitation given him by Ginny, not too early, not too late, not wanting to stand out.

The Weasleys were standing to the back of the crowd, Ron was with them, although the other qualified aurors were gathered in a knot next to the platform where the presentations were to be made. A tall wizard was with them, too, a scholarly looking man of about thirty, introduced to him as David Bourne, Ginny's friend. Harry knew that Ginny was dating - Mrs. Weasley had told him - carefully, casually, as if she didn't know that it would mean anything special to him. And then, on a separate occasion, Ron had told him, and then Hermione, all pretending that it was just a bit of mildly interesting news.

One of the skills Harry had learned in those last difficult years of school, was not to show his emotions to the world, and none of the Weasleys had any idea of what he thought about the news. He wasn't sure himself, but he liked David Bourne, and thought that Ginny had made a good choice. David Bourne wasn't likely to be suddenly killed.

The Weasley brothers, Bill, Fred and George, moved casually behind Harry, shielding him from attack, and Ron had his wand inconspicuously in his hand, also watching his back. Harry felt himself to be very well protected, but wondered if it would be better to be out on his own, trusting to his own reflexes. A constant fear for him was that a friend next to him would be killed. His presence had not so far been noticed by anyone but his immediate companions, and the official part of the afternoon was about to begin.

Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, genially smiling, awarded Ginny Weasley her piece of parchment that showed she was a qualified auror, and now there were two aurors in the family.

She looked at where her tall family was standing, and standing quietly among them was a shorter figure - black rimmed glasses, black hair, black robes. Ginny had not seen Harry since that first day, and then he'd been Bellamy. Now he was himself, and he met her eyes and smiled, congratulating her. She smiled back, but turned her eyes to David, David was to be her future, not Harry.

Harry waited patiently as the ceremonies proceeded, but his eyes were wary, and he was aware of everything that occurred around him. He wanted to talk to Ginny before he left. And also, he wanted Ron or Ginny to identify some of the aurors for him. Once five aurors had tried to abduct him as he waited for the school train - he could see John Dawlish, and he could see another three whom he recognised from that time. He wanted to know their names.

Kingsley Shacklebolt stood out, his bald head with its gold ear ring was a good six inches higher than anyone else. Kingsley was someone Harry knew of old. He did not count Kingsley as a potential enemy.

At length Ginny joined them to have her hand shaken and cheek kissed by her family, and by David, and by Harry. Heads were turning now, and the whisper had gone around that Harry Potter was present. The aurors, especially, were looking at him with a great deal of interest.

Dawlish, however, betrayed a look of hatred that astonished Harry. What had he done to Dawlish to earn that look, he wondered. Certainly, he had knocked him sprawling a few times, but the aurors had been trying to take him away at the time, and surely he shouldn't bear a grudge for that. But John Dawlish was a proud man and a vindictive man. He bore a grudge.

It appeared that Fudge had not yet heard the news. He was happily talking to some of the people who had received awards, and looking like everybody's uncle.

Kingsley Shacklebolt joined the group around Harry, greeting him, and asking how long he'd be in England. Harry liked and trusted Kingsley, and yet his caution was deep ingrained and he was deliberately vague. Kingsley casually moved off, joining the ones acting as his bodyguards. The aurors seemed to be all looking at Harry Potter, and Harry had Ron identify for him the ones he recognised, taking careful note of names, and matching them with faces. Where his own safety was concerned, he had a very retentive memory.

To his surprise, one of the aurors that he knew from that day, came over to him. This was the auror who had handed his wand back to Albus Dumbledore, but Harry didn't know that - this was the auror who had shot him full of tranquilliser.

Charles Mason wasn't sure how much of that day Harry would remember - Harry had been only just seventeen, still very thin and weak from his illness, and drugged. But Harry was looking at him with full knowledge and no forgiveness in his eyes, and Mason merely congratulated him on the defeat of Voldemort, looked at him rather regretfully, and moved off.

He asked Ron about Auror Tonks, who wasn't there. But Ron said that she was now at home with young children, and no longer worked at the Ministry.

Harry Potter had been out in public long enough, so he said good-bye to the Weasleys, to David and Ginny, moved behind his taller friends, and silently disapparated, so that few others saw him go. Two wizards, who joined the celebrations as afternoon tea was served, found that they were too late.

A few days later, Hermione's graduation was held - this time a quiet brown haired wizard was present. No-one took the slightest notice of him. But Bellamy gave Hermione a warm hug, and shook Ron's hand very hard when they made their announcement to the family that they were now officially engaged.

_**x**_

Harry very much wanted to go to Ron and Hermione's engagement party that was to be held the following week, the day before his own birthday, and just a couple of days before he was to move to Hogwarts. But it was widely known how close he was to both Ron and Hermione, and it was no secret now that he was in England. Prudence was warring with his desire to put in an appearance. This was a significant day for his best friends. He wanted to be there, if only for a half hour.

The party was to be a big affair. Schoolfriends, the Granger and the Weasley family, of course, and even some of the members of the Order of the Phoenix were invited.

He was pacing in his house as the time approached when he had to make the final decision whether or not to attend. If he went, he was going to go as himself. There would be too many people who knew him well, to hope to get away with his disguise. So he'd made his hair black, disguised the scar on his cheek, and dressed. If he did appear at the party, he would do so well after the party started, stay no more than half an hour, and quietly leave.

But he could not make up his mind. He knew within himself that he should not go, and prudence had kept him alive long after he had expected to die.

The doorbell rang. At the door were some of those who had fought against Voldemort - Remus Lupin, Mad-Eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt. They were smiling, and Harry asked them in at once.

"Ready to go to a party, Harry?" asked Lupin, as they entered, "We're your escort."

"I can't make up my mind whether to go or not," said Harry, honestly.

"Oh, we have a way," said Kingsley, and Mad-Eye started to say, "I'll just ..." and Harry started to duck swiftly out of the way of the Disillusionment Charm, which caught him a glancing blow on his ear. "...disillusion you..."

Mad-Eye trailed off, bewildered, as Harry fell limp to the floor.

"What happened?" he was asking Lupin, as Lupin knelt beside the unconscious Harry.

"I think his heart's stopped," said Lupin, in alarm - "No, there it is," as he felt it again, but it seemed very feeble and erratic, and the breathing had become very faint. The Disillusionment Charm had only partly worked, and waves of camouflage colour would wash over Harry now and then, but mostly he looked just white.

"He's sensitive to spells - Did he never tell you?" said a malicious voice from a painting of a landscape on the wall. "Dumbledore says you're to take him to Hogwarts straight away. He'll meet you at the gate."

They turned to question the portrait further, but the figure appeared to have gone. They still hesitated, he seemed to Lupin and Kingsley so close to death already that such a move might kill him. Moody was shattered. He'd only been trying to help.

But it seemed the portrait had reported to Dumbledore, who appeared in the small apparation zone that Harry had left within the house, and joined Lupin, kneeling beside Harry, and feeling for his pulse. Hedwig flew into the room, going straight to Harry and nudging his limp hand in distress.

"We need to get him to Madam Pomfrey," Dumbledore stated. "He wouldn't last a day at St. Mungo's with their security. This has happened before, Poppy will do as well for him as anyone else could," and he asked Kingsley to apparate with Harry to Hogwarts. Aurors are taught the skill of apparating with a passenger, and Kingsley was a big man, so he gently scooped up Harry, stepped outside, and vanished, reappearing an instant later at the gates of Hogwarts. Dumbledore appeared beside him, swiftly followed by Moody and Lupin.

Harry Potter returned to Hogwarts, three days earlier than expected, and quite unconscious.

His birthday went by as he still lay unmoving, but he woke on the morning after, feeling feeble, but not with the terrible fatigue he had felt before in his life. Hedwig perched on the bedhead, and Madam Pomfrey sat in a chair close by, dozing. She looked very tired, and Harry left her to sleep.

He knew what had happened - he had tried to dodge the charm, but for once had been too slow. He studied his bare arm, that looked so odd now and then, when the camouflage magic would wash over it, changing the normal skin colour to the colour of the stone walls behind. So it hadn't worked properly - maybe he'd nearly managed to avoid it. But he was still laid low, and was angry - Bloody man! he thought. Bloody stupid arrogant Mad-Eye Moody!

He sat up, and, although a wave of dizziness swept him, he knew what he wanted to do. Madam Pomfrey would have stopped him, but he slipped by her and gave himself a thorough shower. He peered into the mirror, which gave him a very good idea of how long he'd been there, and passed his hands over his face to remove the beard growth with his usual casual magic.

By the time the nurse woke up, he was back in bed, pretending that he hadn't moved. Except that the black dye had been removed from his hair, and the slight fuzziness of his cheeks was gone.

"Hello, Madam Pomfrey," he said.

"Hello, Harry," she said. "How do you feel?"

"Not too bad - how long has it been this time?" said Harry, just to confirm.

"You came in the evening before yesterday," said Madam Pomfrey, and then softly, "It's good to see you again, Harry."

Harry wondered what had become of Madam Pomfrey's holidays, surely she should have been off duty, but he merely said, "Thanks for being here. You've looked after me so often." and Madam Pomfrey felt herself well rewarded.

He was still in trouble, as the nurse knew. The charm had to be removed if he was not to go through life looking distinctly odd, and that might be just as dangerous as applying it had been. She carefully avoided saying anything about this yet. He needed to recover before he was put through anything else, and although it was fairly obvious he'd been up, she didn't rebuke him, but organised a good breakfast for him instead.

Professor Dumbledore found Harry a few hours later sitting in a chair next to the window. He was still pale, and Dumbledore noticed that he tended to look rather worse when those strange waves of camouflage would flow over his body. "Welcome back to Hogwarts, Harry," he said, "A little earlier than expected."

"Thanks," said Harry. "I didn't expect to be put in hospital by a friend, though."

"You'll be stronger in a day or two, I expect," said Dumbledore.

"Mad-Eye will have to take the Charm off for me," said Harry, in a matter-of-fact tone. "It's not that I couldn't live with looking strange - but I don't reckon I can be healthy living with a spell on me."

Dumbledore hadn't really expected to be talking about this necessity yet, and wasn't really prepared for it. Although the lifting of the charm should not be as dangerous as putting it on, Harry had come so close to dying again, and Dumbledore thought that each time Harry had gone down like this, it had been slightly worse. This was the third time. The second time had been a spell made deliberately as light as possible, and Harry had been unconscious three days. This time it had only been two nights and a day, but this was only a charm and not even put on properly. The magic involved in taking it off might easily be fatal, as both Dumbledore and Harry knew.

"Not for several days, I think, Harry," said Dumbledore. "We'll get some of Snape's potion into you first."

Harry made a face at the thought of the potion, which he'd taken for the most part of a year when he was battling to overcome his illness after being hit by a Death Curse. The Death Curse was sent, not by a fully grown wizard, but by a twelve year old boy, which was probably why he'd survived, but he'd been left with this unique condition of being sensitive to spells.

He went back to bed after a time. He felt weary and ill. And when Hermione, Ron and Ginny arrived, having just heard, Madam Pomfrey told them they were not to stay long.

Later that day, Harry wrote a note to his friend Libby, whom he suddenly remembered had been stood up. Madam Pomfrey was resting, having been up and alert for most of two nights and a day, so he asked John, the hospital assistant, to post it for him, muggle mail. John had been called back to help Madam Pomfrey, and Harry felt guilty. He was causing so much trouble, but the very idea of being sent to St. Mungo's was appalling to him. He had once been threatened with a closed ward at St. Mungo's, and it still gave him nightmares.

John took the letter from him, not looking at him, and hurried away. Harry looked after him, wondering why he looked so frightened. He had forgotten that John had seen him break out of this hospital once, wielding powerful magic as if it was child's play, even though only a teenager, and sick besides.

Several long days passed. It was very quiet in the hospital, and Harry was pleased that Hedwig was allowed to stay with him. She was company.

Professor Snape arrived with the potion on the third day, and Harry resumed the routine he hoped he'd left behind forever, a dose in the morning and a dose at night. He became a bit stronger, but after the fourth day, no further progress was made. He was still swaying and staggering whenever one of those waves of camouflage came across him when he was standing or walking, and spent most of his time in the chair next to the window.

He put a note in his locker, addressed to Dumbledore which would give the whereabouts of the will he had made several years ago. He made no reference to it. It would be found if it was needed.

Mad-Eye Moody visited, and said in a growl, "Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Harry had been feeling thoroughly angry with Mad-Eye - if only Mad Eye had just asked first, he would not again be in this hospital and very likely facing death. But he looked at Mad-Eye and saw the distress that was only half concealed behind his rough manner. Harry knew that it had been an accident, and was better than Moody at concealing his feelings. He hid his continuing anger and accepted the apology. If he survived, then he might be able to truly forgive Moody. He still thought putting a spell on someone without asking, showed a distinct lack of manners!

Elaborate preparations were made for the lifting of the charm, which made him more nervous than ever. As always when disturbed, he erected his cool mask, and no-one but Dumbledore suspected that Harry was very frightened. Mad-Eye was to do the job, as it was usually more efficient for a wizard to lift his own spell than for someone else to do it. And Dumbledore had asked his friend, the mediwizard, John Rutledge, to come.

Rutledge was intrigued. Harry Potter's sensitivity to spells was unique, and this was a chance to see exactly what happened when he was exposed to magic. But his intellectual curiosity was not the only reason he was there. He knew Dumbledore cared deeply for Harry Potter, and hoped that he would be able to help.

When the time came, Mad-Eye Moody joined Healer Rutledge and Madam Pomfrey in her office. Harry was leaning against the far wall by the window, looking at the mountains outlined against the overcast sky. Once he cast a reluctant side-long glance at his bed, where Hedwig still perched, waiting for him.

Moody growled, "What do you reckon - should I just go get him?" but Madam Pomfrey said, "I once promised him that he'd never again be forced to do anything he doesn't want to do in this hospital. He'll come when he's ready."

Ron, Hermione and Ginny were close by, but Madam Pomfrey hadn't allowed them in, and Harry had not been told they were there. The tension was enough without adding anything, and having his friends waiting to see whether or not he was going to die would undoubtedly have made him feel only worse.

Professor Dumbledore strode in, Fawkes, his Phoenix, on his shoulder. Harry straightened, feeling suddenly more hopeful. He even smiled as he greeted Dumbledore and stroked Fawkes.

"Well, Harry?"

"Yeah, OK," and Harry started walking, apparently perfectly calm, back toward his bed. He staggered once, and Dumbledore grabbed his arm as one of the waves of camouflage washed over him. But he quickly recovered himself, and Dumbledore let him go - he didn't want Harry to feel constrained in any way.

Harry stopped by his bed, not quite looking at it. Madam Pomfrey and Healer Rutledge had joined them, Moody hanging a little back. "Do I really have to lie down?" he asked.

"Yes, Harry - we must see what happens when you're exposed to magic, and we can't do that so easily if you're standing."

So Harry gathered all the courage he had, and lay down. He was thinking that this was the most difficult thing he had ever done. He looked at no-one as Rutledge taped a monitoring device to his arm, and Madam Pomfrey undid his pyjama top so that she would be able to lay a hand over his heart. Fawkes fluttered to the head of the bed where he perched next to Hedwig, and he flashed a glance at the golden bird before resuming his study of the ceiling. His face was expressionless, and all but Dumbledore thought that he didn't realise the risks involved. Madam Pomfrey went to take his glasses, but he said, "No, I'll keep my glasses on, thanks," and his voice never quivered.

At last everything was set. Madam Pomfrey had one hand over his heart, and one feeling the pulse in his wrist. Rutledge was watching his monitor. Dumbledore gave Mad-Eye a nod.

"Harry, just turn your head to the side," and Harry did so.

Mad-Eye gave him a hard rap on the head with his wand, and lifted the charm.

Harry's heart leapt, then stopped, and Hedwig made a sudden cry. There was dead quiet as they waited, and then Madam Pomfrey felt a new flutter, and the heart resumed its beat, feeble and erratic at first, but getting quite rapidly stronger and more steady.

Mad-Eye Moody had beaten a retreat, and was now at Harry's place by the window looking at the mountains. Rutledge looked at Dumbledore, standing close by. "It looks like he's going to be all right," he said.

Dumbledore blinked away a suspicious moisture in his eyes. "Of course," he said, "Our Harry's very hard to kill!"

Rutledge spoke to Madam Pomfrey, "Poppy, just tell me your observations please. I want to compare your direct observations with the readings on the Nisco Monitor.

She replied with some hesitation, "Well, to begin with, his pulse was racing. He was obviously very nervous, even if he didn't show it. And then, when Moody struck, his heart actually stopped for some seconds." Madam Pomfrey had leaned back in her chair, but still held Harry's wrist, feeling his pulse. "And then the heartbeat started again, very weak at first," and Madam Pomfrey looked at Dumbledore then, who was listening but still looked away, "Now his pulse is strong and regular - better in fact than it's been since it happened." She concluded in a tone of triumph, "You know - I think he's going to be fine."

At which point, Harry, who had roused halfway through the speech, caused a stir by saying, "Well, that's good to know."

Madam Pomfrey squeezed his hand which she was still holding, and Dumbledore said, "Welcome back, Harry."

Harry started to get up, but Rutledge said, "No, no, stay flat. You did hear that your heart stopped," but Harry said, "No, I didn't hear that."

"Well, it did stop. And the Nisco Monitor showed some worrying oscillations. So while you seem all right now, I want you to stay in bed at least until tomorrow, and we'll see how you go."

So Harry obediently stayed in bed - for a couple of hours, anyway. He felt perfectly healthy now, and quickly became restless. He'd already spent nearly a week in hospital!

Meantime, Madam Pomfrey slipped off to tell Hermione, Ron and Ginny that Harry was fine. At the news, Ginny became so emotional that Hermione took her home without even seeing him - but the following week, her engagement to David Bourne was announced.

Ron was allowed in to see Harry then, but could only spend a short time. While his career as an auror allowed him some degree of leeway, he couldn't spend hours visiting a sick friend in the middle of the day. Harry didn't think he was sick anymore, and became increasingly restless. Madam Pomfrey finally allowed him to sit by the window again, but caught him a little later, pacing rapidly up and down the ward.

She gave up when Professor Dumbledore visited again, and allowed Harry to go off with Dumbledore to see his new apartment.

His restlessness died as soon as he was out of the hospital, and he walked with Dumbledore to his new home. Dumbledore had given him two good-sized rooms right next to his own office, in the secure inner recesses of the castle, and high enough that the one barred window was also very secure against any potential intruders. Harry had a large outer office and through a doorway, a combined bedroom and sitting room. They were both very comfortable, and nicely decorated - Dumbledore had even thought about his new teacher's execrable taste and did the job for him.

Harry was delighted and grateful, and wanted to start moving his things in straightaway, but Dumbledore refused. When Rutledge returned, looking for Harry, he was reluctantly persuaded to return to the hospital, where he allowed Rutledge to do as thorough an examination as he wanted. Harry finally asked what the instruments were that Rutledge used, and was deeply interested in the explanations. Rutledge was becoming more interested in this young man, too, separate from his desire to please Albus Dumbledore.

Later that day, Rutledge was in Dumbledore's office, where they were talking about Harry, not just the courage he had shown, but the residual lean to the left that had become obvious again when he was ill.

There was something else that John Rutledge had noticed in the course of the day - once the charm was removed, Harry had unusually high readings on the 'LV' measure on his monitor. The dial only went to 110, so the exact reading was unknown. A normal reading was 100, with a rare person showing a reading of up to 105. The Nisco monitor was mostly used to indicate how sick a person was, with a reading of 20 or below, for instance, indicating probable death. Exactly what such a high reading meant he wasn't too sure, but maybe it had something to do with his potential to do magic, and his quick recovery once the charm was lifted.

Harry managed to be fairly docile for the rest of the day, and endured a restless night without complaint. He noticed the ward assistant didn't come near him, and by now he had remembered that he'd been present when he'd had to break out of hospital. Madam Pomfrey had by now overcome her fear, but John had not. John had no magic, and the power that Harry had demonstrated had terrified the poor man. But Harry didn't know what to do about it, and maybe he too held a bit of a grudge, remembering how John had helped force him to take a potion against his will.

Before he left, Madam Pomfrey stated that from now on, he was to call her 'Poppy,' as Dumbledore did.

Harry tried it "Poppy?" and shook his head, admitting, "It doesn't seem right!"

_**x**_

There were still three weeks until the school students were to arrive. There was time for Dumbledore to coach Harry in his new duties, and for Harry to re-explore the castle and grounds of Hogwarts. He was happy. With his stern common sense, he had put his yearning for a normal life, possibly married to Ginny, firmly away from him, and as always, enjoyed what he could have, rather than wanting the things he could not have. Libby had moved on now, but there were other women.

Hedwig resumed her place in the owlery, but visited him in his rooms frequently, always sailing in between the bars of his open window. Harry conjured a perch for her in his office, and his owl became as well known to his visitors as Dumbledore's phoenix was to his.

There were several teachers and other members of staff who lived permanently at Hogwarts. Among them was Severus Snape. Snape was the Potions Master, although he was also an expert in the Dark Arts and Defence. He'd had a lot to do with Harry Potter, especially in Harry's last two years as a student. Severus Snape was one of the very few people who had the subtle skills required to make the complex potion that had enabled Harry to finally turn the corner from deep illness to recovery.

But Snape was an embittered man, who had come from a family of Dark Wizards. His early life had been difficult, and on maturity, he had originally joined Voldemort, and then, with great courage, had spied on him. He was a proud man, who'd scorned to ask for any recognition, and never received any. He didn't seem to actually like anybody, and lived his life with a sneer. Many students were terrified of him.

Harry himself, had loathed him for years. Albus Dumbledore was maybe the only man in the world who had some understanding of this complex and talented wizard. And when he came across him one day in the grounds, standing watching a young wizard on a broomstick, playing, he had some inkling of the fascination that Snape had begun to feel for a person so completely different from himself.

Harry Potter was soaring into the air, as fast as he could possibly go, repeatedly diving, even faster, and even spinning through the air like a corkscrew. He came low, and tried dodging through the trees, but now he went slowly and cautiously, quickly giving up as he went too close to a tree, hitting his shoulder, but luckily not falling. Then he soared up into the air again, to loop the loop, going faster and faster.

Albus Dumbledore, watching him too, said quietly to Snape, "He has the gift of enjoying life," and Snape, who himself had nothing of that gift, agreed.

For Harry, it was time to make a decision. His hair was dyed brown, with black roots beginning to show again. He wanted to preserve the choice to be Bellamy when required, but now he was going to live a life at Hogwarts, and would be appearing as himself. He went back to his friend, Rachel, the hairdresser.

Rachel was as helpful as she had been before. In his new role, Harry wanted to revert to his normal black hair. The problem was that allowing it to grow out naturally, and having half brown and half black hair, was a giveaway to his disguise. Rachel suggested that his best bet was to re-dye his brown hair black, which could be done, although its condition would suffer. She would then supply him with a brown wig, so that he could still appear as Bellamy when required. And she agreed with him that the scar on his cheek was indeed fading.

He took her out to dinner as a way to repay her for her help, and disguise was not the only thing they spoke about. They had a good time together. Rachel asked him to tell her more about the reasons why people might wish him dead, and while he was vague, he did state again that he was not a criminal. So Rachel came to her own conclusions, (quite wrong) and never asked him again.

Harry was treating Rachel as a simple friend, and hadn't even thought about whether he might like to take her to bed. She was younger than nearly every woman he had been with, only a few years older than himself. He had made a rule for himself long ago that he would not have 'girlfriends' as such, that love and romance were not for him, that he would never consciously hurt a woman who might be looking for commitment.

Rachel, because of her burn scars, thought herself ugly and undesirable, and had never had a relationship with a man. But Harry looked up suddenly, and surprised a wistful, yearning look, and knew that she desired him. His own look and voice changed in that almost unconscious way that showed how much he desired a woman. But he looked down. He cared for Rachel - she was a good friend, but he didn't love her - he could not afford to love anyone.

Looking at her again, he had an insight. Had she never had a man? Had her scars, and more, her lack of confidence in her own desirability harmed that area of life that could be so pleasurable, so rewarding? There had never been a mention of a boyfriend during their long conversation. In the end, he tried honesty. "Rachel," he began. "You know that I can never commit myself to any woman. Besides people trying to kill me, I tend to get very ill now and then. With one thing and another, I'm a lousy prospect for permanence."

Rachel was looking at him with a guarded expression, which he instantly recognised. She was concealing emotion, just as he did himself. He came clean, "I would like to go to bed with you - but I'm afraid of hurting you." And in his eyes was that look of desire again, and she met it with an honest look showing an equal desire. That night, they explored together almost the greatest joy that a man and woman could share, only exceeded by the joy involved in doing the very same thing with a beloved mate.

Harry Potter enjoyed a relationship with Rachel that lasted many months, but Rachel had a dose of the same matter-of-fact common sense that Harry had, and never allowed her heart to be much touched. With increased happiness and confidence, she became more attractive to others, too, and Harry was eventually abandoned for an ordinary muggle looking for a wife.

***chapter end***


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer:__ J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter & his world. _

_Chapter 4:_

Harry was surprised to find that security at Hogwarts was as rigorous as it had been when he was a student, under constant threat then. He didn't say anything. Thinking about it, he really didn't mind having some help surviving for a change! But the security guards were still not fully effective.

Two days before the school year started, he was strolling in the grounds with Professors McGonnagal and Dumbledore when he tensed. There was nothing to give him reason for his sudden tension, but Dumbledore noticed he was scanning the edge of the forest carefully, and his wand was drawn.

"Let's go this way," said Harry, changing direction as he spoke, but keeping to the same unhurried pace.

McGonnagal and Dumbledore exchanged a glance, but followed his lead. Where a fold of the ground hid the trio, Harry said, "Look, I just want to have a quick look in the forest, I'll join you again in a few minutes." And they watched as Harry slipped behind some trees and became invisible in the forest.

"What do you think he's doing?" Professor McGonnagal asked.

"I'd say he thinks there's an intruder, and he hopes to catch him for a change," said Dumbledore. He had his own wand out, and was looking back at the part of the forest where Harry had first been looking. But he did nothing, leaving it to the young wizard.

Meantime, Harry, who had learned stealth by dodging security guards in this same forest, circled around and came up behind a stranger looking hard into the cleared ground where they had been walking not long before. The wizard had his wand out, but not raised. Harry scanned carefully all around - there was only the one, so he turned his attention back to him.

Without warning, the wizard found his wand vanished and himself bound with ropes. And although his legs were still free, they would not obey his will. He had been captured by the brilliant wizard he had meant to kill.

Harry had no qualms about fair fights, or not hitting a man when he wasn't looking. This was just another incident in the battle to stay alive, which he'd been fighting for some years now. Fair fighting has little to do with staying alive. He picked up the nearby broomstick, and his would- be killer was marched out of the forest to where Dumbledore and McGonnagal waited. "I didn't kill him," he told Dumbledore, "We'll see what the Ministry does."

But the Ministry only fined the wizard for trespass, and freed him, remembering to rebuke Harry Potter for destroying his wand. - 'Wizards _never_ attack each other's wands,' they told him. Harry regretted not having even left the wizard with boils as some punishment for intended murder, and lost further faith in the Ministry of Magic. Certainly they must have had methods of interrogation that could have ascertained that the wizard was not 'lost,' as had been the excuse.

Professor Dumbledore asked him how he had known there was an intruder. But he could only say that he sometimes had a sense for danger, and could not be more specific.

_**x**_

School term started. Harry struggled for a while. Very few of the teachers wanted a brilliant and famous wizard as a helper. For a time, he mostly helped Hagrid. He became familiar with the inhabitants of the Dark Forest, and at home on its paths, finding it rather less dangerous for him than were the streets of London.

He also supervised study and homework groups, but when the students asked for help, they never knew whether their questions would find the gaping holes in Harry's knowledge, or would find amazingly useful help in mastering spells. Harry was a contradiction. He might not even remember an incantation, but once reminded, he could somehow render some very useful help in actually doing the magic.

He was supervising a study group one day, only weeks after he'd started as a teaching assistant. There was little to do at the moment, the half dozen students were all quietly working, and Harry had his feet on a conjured footstool, and was himself studying a Potions book. He was still trying to raise his standard of knowledge to at least that of the current crop of seventh years. Luckily he was never expected to teach Potions - although basically competent, he just didn't seem to have the subtle skills required to ever be more than that.

The time allotted came to an end, and the students started to pack up. "Mr. Potter," said one, "Did you know you're on the chocolate frog cards?"

"No," said Harry surprised.

"Well, you are, do you want to see?"

"I guess I'd better."

He took the card from the student. The image was the same one he had seen on a poster in a bookshop, that of a black haired youth with a wary look about him. He turned to the back and read a brief account of his defeat of Voldemort, and a statement that his current whereabouts were unknown.

"Is that true, what they said?"

"It's true enough - except for the last bit obviously."

"Can you tell us about it?"

But Harry said, "No. It's history," and he packed up himself and left them speculating.

He never would talk about himself, and the students resorted to the books that had been written about him, some basically true, some wild flights of fantasy.

The current crop of senior students at Hogwarts had been first and second year students when Harry was in sixth and seventh year. He never quite knew how to relate to these, and thought that, on the whole, he'd be glad when they graduated. They remembered him as a hero, but many, especially the Gryffindors, also remembered him when he had been very sick. It was hard for them now to think of him as just another teacher.

In these days, Harry was relieved that he was not getting a salary. While he tried hard to earn his bed and board - and his safety - he still felt he was taking charity. It would not be for some years that he really felt as if he was making the grade as a teacher, although Dumbledore quietly organised the normal salary into his bank vault well before that time.

_**x**_

Aside from his regular visits to see his good friend Rachel, Harry rarely went out of the grounds, and never into Hogsmeade, where he had met constant harassment before. Instead, he walked the grounds, and sometimes, after dark, the tracks outside the grounds, sped around on his broomstick, and renewed his acquaintance with the gym. Sometimes Ron and Hermione, and more rarely, Ginny, came to visit him at Hogwarts.

He did risk a couple of Quidditch games to watch Ron play, though, going as Bellamy. But he always wound up getting too caught up in the game, and knew that would make him an easy target if recognised. So, reluctantly, he stopped going.

He found the gymnasium a lot less deserted than it had been when he'd been a student. It was not that the young witches and wizards had found a new liking for physical education, rather it was used as a convenient meeting place, a place to plan mischief, and a place to enjoy a romantic tryst - very useful in fact. Sometimes students came just to watch the famous Harry Potter, but he quickly found the best times to be alone.

His curiosity overcame him one day, and he asked Hermione if she might buy him the books about himself he had seen in the bookshop. He blushed as he asked her - it seemed so vain, but he wanted to know what people were saying about him. Hermione's reaction was interesting. She looked to the side, and said that he might not like some of those books, which naturally made him think that he'd definitely better read them.

Hermione was right. There were three books purporting to be biographies of Harry Potter. Although one of the books gave a fair account of his days at Hogwarts and final defeat of Voldemort, by Susan Bourne, who at least knew him, another was highly coloured and full of exaggerations, and the third was worrying. He learned that he was a budding Dark Wizard of horrifying power. He had displayed a knowledge of the Dark Arts such as Parseltongue, the Cloak of Power, and Possession of a Foe. There were other Dark Arts mentioned also, and he had to ask Dumbledore what they were, as he'd never heard of them. The book concluded by saying that he was currently overseas learning more Dark Magic, and that he would undoubtedly wind up being a greater and more feared wizard than Voldemort ever was.

Harry didn't like this book, not so much because he felt insulted, rather it was because it made him feel unsafe. The last thing he needed was more enemies. He had never heard of the author, and thought that it could easily be a false name anyway. If the author believed one tenth of what he'd written, he'd surely be frightened of vengeance.

After reading this book, he started getting The Daily Prophet every day, and also made sure to check the contents of other newspapers that were in the library. But there was seldom a mention of himself, either good or bad.

The fourth book was intriguing. It was only a slim book, with a simple cover, not illustrated. The purpose of the book appeared to be to give a new theory to account for Harry's surviving a Death Curse when he was just a baby. Professor Dumbledore had thought that he'd lived through that Death Curse because he had gained some protective magic from his mother's sacrifice of her life for him. The author put forward the theory that he'd seen his parents killed by Voldemort, and had acted consciously and deliberately to defend himself, in the same way he batted away spells.

It gave an account of what was known of that first encounter with Voldemort, and then went through the several known instances of Harry batting away spells with his hand, including of course, that final fight when he had sent Voldemort's Death Curse straight back and killed him with it. The author argued that he'd not been a _small _baby when it had happened, and that he had since proven himself to be intelligent, resourceful, and powerful. That it was entirely feasible that he had quite deliberately defended himself.

Harry stared into the distance, thinking. It was certainly a simpler explanation than Dumbledore had given, and he was sure that he'd seen his mother killed, if not his father. He concluded that it was possible.

_**x**_

Dudley's wedding was the next item marked in his treasured appointment diary, which had become a symbol for him that he might now be safe enough to have a future. Dudley was a muggle, and his wedding would be a muggle wedding in a muggle town. Harry thought that this made him pretty safe.

Once he started thinking about wedding presents though, he paused. Hadn't he sent a box home from Arabia, by muggle transport a year or so ago? It had contained some beautiful and exotic silks and jewellery. He had sent it to Hermione's parents' place, asking in a letter whether she would keep it for him. He asked her about it the next time he saw her. Like Harry, she had forgotten completely about the large box which was now stored away in an attic.

He arranged a visit with Hermione, who still lived with her parents. Ron came too, as he was to keep a watch out for danger, although Harry felt pretty safe really. His enemies couldn't possibly watch every muggle house he might go to.

That visit was enormous fun. The silks were indeed beautiful - it helped that he had allowed the girlfriend of the time to do most of the choosing. Harry picked out a few that he thought Celia might like, but Mrs. Granger, who joined them, asked him about her colouring, and quickly put aside the bright pinks and scarlets that Harry had inclined to. Poor Ron, as a redhead, was roped in instead, to be draped with silks, while he stood and looked embarrassed. But in the end, some very lovely silks were chosen, in the tones that would enhance the beautiful colouring of a true redhead.

Mrs. Granger and Hermione were presented with their choice of the material, too, as well as jewellery. They tried to refuse, but as Harry said, What else would he do with them? He had never forgotten how much his friends had done for him.

Afterward, Harry asked the women for advice on which silks or jewellery he should give Rachel, describing her for them. And then, with his usual prudence, he started to say his good-byes. Hermione told him to wait - she had something to show him.

Ron, now relieved of his silken decorations, checked again outside for danger. But Harry looked entirely comfortable, and his friends had begun to have faith in his instincts, and thought that while he looked relaxed, they could probably relax too.

Hermione returned with a framed picture. It was of a bare-headed young man on a horse, riding at full gallop across a bare plain, which seemed to stretch forever. Harry looked at the picture of himself, taken by his friend Ben, and the flavour of those days returned. He'd forgotten he'd sent that picture to Hermione.

He had seldom written over the years he had been away, and when he did so, had usually only sent off a letter on departure from a place, to make it harder to trace him. This picture seemed to him to have been a breach of security, even though he had ensured that it was sent from a capital city, not from the closest town. It provided too many clues as to his occupation and whereabouts. But it brought back the flavour of those days so vividly, and he had loved that horse - it had broken its leg at the same time he had broken his, and been destroyed. The photograph had obviously been valued, the small snap had been enlarged and framed.

"Tell us about it," said Hermione.

So he settled down again, and told some yarns about his times with Ben. "He reminded me of you, Ron," he said. "He was redheaded too, and a great mate - I'll go back and see him one day." But now he'd been here way too long, he felt, even though he had no inkling of danger, and he packed up his box, said his goodbyes, and silently disapparated.

Rachel was thrilled with her present, and even though she felt as if she'd never wear such exotic silks, she would certainly wear the gold and pearl necklace he gave her. She thought that it was costume jewellery, she probably would not otherwise have worn an item of such value.

With her help, he bought a black muggle suit for the formal wedding, and Rachel tried to make his hair look a little better - dying hair black after it had already been dyed brown is not a recipe for soft shining hair! She was going to come with him. Rachel loved being escorted by the attractive young man, and Harry liked having Rachel along - she was not only good company, but to have a date was a sign of normality, which he valued.

He caused a bit of a stir at Dudley's wedding. There was something in the way he carried himself that drew attention. And the women, of course, noticed how attractive he was, his attraction somehow enhanced by the scar that was still prominent on his cheek.

Aunt Marge came across to him, thinking to enjoy herself insulting him - maybe with a reference to his reputation as an 'incurable criminal,' or to St. Brutus's, the reform school that he was supposed to have gone to. But this was no longer a boy - this young man looked at her with such cool assurance that she backed away, not knowing what frightened her.

Dudley and his bride were welcoming, and Dudley's parents were impeccably polite.

Harry was feeling reasonably safe with the muggles, but Rachel tapped him on the shoulder and indicated a cloaked man standing watching the gathering. Harry turned to look, and knew straightaway that he had been recognised.

The unknown wizard put his hand up to his inside pocket, probably to draw his wand, possibly for some other purpose. Harry exerted his will, and the wizard collapsed, stunned.

Harry crossed to him, removed his wand, and vanished it, still without using his own wand. He did not punish the man in any other way, he had no proof that he was a potential attacker after all, but left it to the muggles to organise an ambulance. The wizard would wake to find himself in a muggle hospital - embarrassing!

_**x**_

Harry was having some trouble these days in his role as a teacher. He was popular, and was showing himself increasingly capable, but he was quite unable to exert discipline as most of the teachers did. He frequently forgot to use the formal language of the school. Instead of addressing the students, for instance, as 'Mr. Thomas,' or 'Miss James,' he was quite likely to say, 'David,' or 'Suzy.'

He was the most popular of the teachers, and by far the youngest. He was also very attractive to women, and this was where he was having most difficulty. The senior girls were apt to put him in embarrassing positions, and he found it difficult to repulse them as forcibly as required.

One day, a few months after his commencement at Hogwarts, Severus Snape walked past the Defence Classroom, and observed Harry backed up against a desk by a forward young lady of sixteen. Snape, at first, was inclined to be amused and pass on, but Harry saw him there and gave him a look of such naked appeal that he walked in, saying in a freezing voice, "Miss Sneezby?"

Miss Sneezby backed away, blushing, and hurried off, and Harry, with the most profound gratitude, said, "Thanks - I didn't quite know what to do!"

Snape regarded Harry, his mouth quirking, "Funny - it doesn't happen to me!"

Harry looked at him, smiling, "I'm going to practice that freeze in the voice, it's remarkably effective."

Snape waited for Harry to pack up, and they went off together for lunch.

This was the start of an unlikely friendship. It seemed that Harry took some enjoyment from the waspish comments of Snape, and as for Severus Snape, it appeared that Harry was the only one who could make him laugh.

This was not the only time that Harry had some trouble with teaching. Old Professor Dalton was beginning to suffer more with the infirmities of age, and Harry found himself quite frequently teaching Defence against the Dark Arts classes. Aside from Muggle Studies, this was the subject in which he had most confidence in himself as a teacher. When one day, he was called upon to teach a seventh year class about Dementors, he didn't expect any problems. Aside from what was written in the text book, he was fairly knowledgeable about Dementors, knew how contact with them felt, and had long since mastered the Patronus spell. But he wanted to show his students the reality of a Dementor, before teaching the protective spell.

There was a perfect way to do it. A Boggart will turn into whatever a person fears most. For Harry that had always been a Dementor. So when the class arrived, his preparation included a Boggart in a trunk. He planned to let it out, face it so that it would turn into a Dementor, and then use a weak Patronus to hold it still for the class to study.

After some basic instruction and preparation, he had the students stand back while he opened the trunk, waiting for the sinister figure of the Dementor to make its appearance. He was totally unprepared for a jet of green light, a Death Curse, to come hurtling toward him. He yelled, "_Fuck!_" and he hit the spell with his hand to the floor with such force that the Boggart was instantly destroyed.

The students were staring. The feat of batting a spell out of the air was a unique ability that Harry Potter was famous for, but they had never expected to see him actually do it!

Harry stared at the trunk in blank bewilderment, until Suzy, a young lady who had once had a furry face, asked him if this was why one should never face a Boggart alone.

Harry, still totally disconcerted, said, "Uh, yeah, I guess so." He made an effort and collected himself, apologised for swearing, and set some homework. He was always very weak with homework, and all they had to do was to find and study a picture of a Dementor.

Harry felt he'd made a thorough fool of himself. But the students had learned a couple of things in that lesson - that one should never face a Boggart by themselves, and that, while Harry Potter might react with lightning speed, and had the incredible skill of batting away a Death Curse, he was also only human.

In the staff room, however, there was a lot of laughter and teasing about the unconventional methods Harry Potter used to dispose of Boggarts!

***chapter end***


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter & his world. _

_Chapter 5:_

It was April, and Hermione and Ron were to be married. They were going to set up house for themselves close to St. Mungo's where Hermione worked, and were deeply involved in preparations. Ron was pressing Harry to be Best Man, and Harry very much wanted to stand up with his closest friend. No-one had tried to kill him for several months, but he suspected that this was only because he never appeared in public long enough for his attackers to find him.

Ron was more optimistic - he thought they'd given up. Nevertheless, security was going to be very strong. Ron had friends among his workmates, the aurors, and if only Harry would come, Ron promised, the perimeter would be guarded by several of them. No-one outside the immediate family would know that he was to be there, and only guests with invitations would be admitted. An anti-apparation jinx was to be applied to the ground also, straight after he arrived.

So Harry agreed, at one and the same time feeling embarrassed that such preparations had to be made, but also thinking that they were not in the slightest bit exaggerated.

The wedding was held under a large marquee in the large garden made available for use by one of Hermione's great aunts, who was a witch. Hermione mentioned something that neither she nor her parents had known for years - there was a scattering of witches and wizards among Hermione's relatives - it wasn't just Hermione.

The ceremonial proceeded without a hitch, and Harry's two best friends were husband and wife. Photographs were taken, and refreshments were served.

It was an informal affair, and although it had not been planned as a big wedding, both the Grangers and the Weasleys had large families to invite. There were also old school friends that Harry hadn't seen for years, Ron's Quidditch team, and there were workmates of Hermione as well as Ron's auror friends, who doubled as guards. It wound up as a large gathering.

Harry was relaxed, enjoying himself. It was great to see old friends, but he was currently talking about Quidditch with one of Ron's team mates. Big, black Kingsley Shacklebolt was nearby. He'd been close almost the whole time, aside from the actual ceremony, and Harry assumed that he'd appointed himself his personal body guard. But Harry had no sense of danger, and was bent on simply enjoying the treat.

Suddenly a hush spread over the gathering, and he turned, suddenly acutely alert. Kingsley Shacklebolt, overtopping him by several inches, could see what was causing the commotion. A dozen hooded wizards were approaching, wands raised.

Harry was drawing his own wand, as were all of the wizards and witches who felt competent to defend themselves. He started to slip through the crowd toward the disturbance, but abruptly found himself restrained by a very strong arm. He spun around in fury, his forehead scar suddenly blazing bright - but a hard thumb ground into a spot on his neck over the carotid artery, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, for Harry's own protection of course, rendered the young man unconscious.

He roused after a short time, still firmly held by Kingsley. He was confused for a moment, before remembering what had happened. He abruptly twisted, and Kingsley found him suddenly impossible to hold.

Harry stepped back, looking at him, and in a freezing voice, said, "_Never _do that again!"

Kingsley had been trying to keep him out of trouble - it was fairly obvious who was the target of this disturbance. His intention hadn't changed, and he reached out for the young man, whom he still thought of a boy. But the young man had apparently forgotten that an anti-apparation charm surrounded him, and vanished as he watched.

Harry had more sense than Kingsley credited him with. He had no intention of joining in the duels that were being waged close by. One to one duels against murderers were pointless, he thought, especially when he could be killed as easily by one of his friends' stun spells as by a Death Curse. So he apparated to the edge of the crowd, not too close to the disturbance, and then, carefully, to a solid perch in a nearby tree. From there, taking his time to aim, he stunned the hooded figures, one by one. One by one, each of his allies found himself with nothing further to do.

He descended from his tree, and walked across to the fighters, those still on their feet, such as Ron, and those ones lying stunned or hurt, on the ground. Harry looked different to those watching him - the lightning shaped scar on his forehead showed clearly, and his manner had subtly changed.

Three of his allies were down, two standing but apparently hurt. But twelve hooded figures were also down, stunned. Some of the aurors were efficiently disarming them and tying them up, others were checking the downed aurors. There were no outcries of dismay, so Harry assumed there were no serious casualties.

He went from one to another of the fallen attackers, using his wand to vanish their hoods, and looking at them carefully. Ron and Ginny were both aurors, but they knew him of old. They stood back, allowing him to take charge. Harry turned to Kingsley, "Do you know how to question a person so that he tells the truth?"

One of the aurors said, "Don't worry about that, Harry, we'll question them at the Ministry."

Harry sometimes had to make an effort to remember that these aurors were on his side, his previous experience with aurors having not been good. So he pointed out fairly politely, "Last time I sent a captured killer to the Ministry, they charged him with trespass and let him go. That's him there," indicating one of the downed wizards.

He turned again to Kingsley, who took in his changed demeanour. This was not a boy to be protected, this was a man. Kingsley nodded, "I can question them."

"You have put anti-disapparation charms on them?" Harry checked.

"Routine," said Kingsley.

So Harry pointed his wand at a particular wizard, who roused, shook his head, and rose to his feet.

Kingsley faced the now unmasked wizard, holding up his wand, although no spell was visible, and spoke softly and clearly. "What was your intention in coming here?"

The answer came in an automatic, expressionless voice. "To get Harry Potter."

"_How _did you expect to get Harry Potter?"

"If we threatened to kill people, we expected him to be handed over."

"What did you intend to do to him?"

"We were going to torture him to death."

Kingsley looked at Harry who appeared entirely unmoved. Coolly, Harry asked, "Why is it that you've decided to torture instead of just to kill?"

"There were enough of us together that we could do it," and the answer came in that same automatic, expressionless voice.

Harry paused for a moment, Kingsley waited for him. Then Harry asked "How many are there that you know of actively trying to kill me?"

"Nearly forty, plus a hundred or so watching for opportunities?"

"Why? What's the point? Voldemort is dead!"

"The Dark Lord will never rest until Harry Potter is dead!" came the answer in the same flat dead tone.

Harry stepped back, "All right, I've finished."

Witches and wizards are pretty tough, on the whole, and the wedding guests left the aurors to look after the dozen uninvited guests, and returned to a more social mood. Some of the muggles were rather upset, but Mrs. Granger took charge of them.

Harry, himself, showed no inclination to leave - he was not expecting any further trouble, and he'd apparently put out of his head the information that so many people wanted him dead, preferably painfully. Instead, he was talking to Dean about arranging a time to come to his London house and give him some advice about decoration. He'd had enough ribbing over the years to know that his own taste left something to be desired.

Hermione and Ron joined Harry and Dean. Hermione wanted to ask Harry if he'd be willing to try and break a spell on a patient that was making him miserable. "It seems no-one can break it, but I thought you might have a go."

"But I'm not a mediwizard!" he said.

Hermione pointed out, "You can do things no-one else can do. I think it's worth a try."

Harry agreed.

"Not until after our honeymoon, of course," said Hermione.

"Of course," said Harry. "I hope you have a wonderful time."

_**x**_

Three weeks after the wedding, he apparated straight into Hermione's office in St. Mungo's. He didn't really like being at St. Mungo's, he'd been threatened with confinement within a closed ward here twice, and when he'd attempted to do a first aid course after he left school, he'd been slashed across the ribs with a knife, in yet another attempt to kill him.

Hermione welcomed him, and explained her patient's problem. The patient wasn't due for a few minutes, and he waited at ease in her office, chatting quietly with her about her experiences in Egypt where she'd been with Ron.

After a little, there was a knock at the door, and the receptionist ushered in a middle aged man who appeared to have a very nasty skin condition. The man had not been told who was going to make this last of a series of attempts at breaking the spell, but recognised Harry Potter the moment he was admitted to the office, and looked terrified.

Hermione introduced them, but the man still looked so frightened that Harry said, "I don't have to do anything, you know - it's totally up to you."

The man put his hand up to his face feeling his disfigurement, gathered his courage, and said, "Please, sir, I'd be grateful if you have a go."

So Harry, not really knowing whether it would work, tapped him on the shoulder with his wand, and said the words, _"Finite Incantatum."_

The warts and boils vanished, and the man looked normal - not very good-looking, but normal. He put his hands up to his face, a broad smile lit his features, and tears were in his eyes as he repeatedly thanked Harry.

But Harry was already becoming self-conscious, the excessive gratitude seemed out of proportion to such a minor favour. To the man, who had suffered eight years of being unsightly and in pain, it was not a minor favour.

Harry wondered about the fear the man had shown of him. It was not the first time that he had seen this fear of him by strangers, and it always gave him a thoroughly unpleasant feeling. Voldemort may have liked to inspire fear, Harry Potter hated it. He remembered the book that had spoken of him being a Dark Wizard and wondered if that had something to do with it.

He resumed combing the newspapers for mentions of himself, and this time found that he scored frequent mentions, although seldom in _The Daily Prophet,_ which was the most widely read of the wizard newspapers. The articles were not prominent, but, for example, there would be a piece on the Dark Art of talking to snakes, Parseltongue, along with a mention that Harry Potter was now the only known Parseltongue alive. Or there would be an opinion piece on the dangers of very powerful wizards. Once there was an involved and possibly fictitious family tree that showed Voldemort related to Harry Potter.

Severus Snape found him in the library one day, newspaper in hand, looking into the distance. When Snape asked him what was wrong, he showed Snape the article with the family tree. "I don't like it," said Harry. "There's been a few like this - I'd like to know who's behind it."

"I've seen some," said Snape, "You're not universally popular!"

Harry looked up at Snape from his chair, his sudden contagious grin on face, "'Want to come with me to Diagon Alley?" he asked Snape, but Snape was surprised when he turned up at Harry's room to find him in a shabby brown robe, brown hair, and with clear-rimmed glasses, which made a surprisingly effective change to his appearance. "The name's Bellamy," said Harry.

Snape peered at him, "What's happened to the scar on the forehead?" he asked.

"Muggle make-up," said Harry, with a rather mischievous look. "Today, I want to check the bookshop, to see how evil I've become, and I want to stroll the streets and have an ice-cream. I haven't brought out Bellamy for ages, I reckon I can get away with it for a morning!"

So Severus Snape, with his young friend Bellamy, visited the bookstore. Sure enough, there was a new book about Harry Potter, but this one had a sinister looking illustration of a large snake on the cover. The poster of him was still there, but Harry had a lot more faith in his disguise now, and didn't worry about it.

Snape, on the other hand, was rather struck. He'd had a lot to do with Harry at that age, and the pose was so typical of him as he'd been then. He seldom saw that expression now - these days Harry's face was expressive, and he tended to act as if he had nothing better to do than have fun.

But when Snape glanced over at his apparently carefree friend, he noticed that he was not relaxed, and that his eyes were very alert.

Harry made some purchases - as well as the book about himself, he bought more texts on various subjects as well. He was trying to make good some of the holes in his knowledge, so that his homework groups would be less likely to catch him out.

They strolled off down the street, only stopping briefly for Snape to supply himself with some potions ingredients. Although they passed several people they knew, none gave Harry a second glance.

At last, at Harry's insistence, they sat down on a table at the ice-cream shop. Snape refused the indignity of eating an ice-cream, but Harry ate his with every evidence of enjoyment. He had chosen a table that provided him with a protective wall behind him, and Snape noticed again that his eyes were seldom still.

Draco Malfoy strolled up, "Why, Severus," he said, "How nice to see you."

Snape hesitated, he had forgotten Harry's assumed name, but Harry stood, held out a hand, and said, "Bellamy."

"Hello, Bellamy, nice to meet you," but Harry was grinning at him. "Are you having an ice-cream, or is it too childish for you."

Malfoy decided that he would indeed have an ice-cream, although Harry noticed that he chose a small one in an obscure flavour - maybe he thought that would make it more adult.

The conversation was general and casual for a while, but then Malfoy dropped the pretence and leaned over toward Harry, dropping his voice so low that Harry, himself, could scarcely hear. "You've got to be careful, Harry. Some powerful people are beginning to say things against you."

"Like what?" asked Harry in an equally low tone.

"Oh, you're a Dark Wizard - they should put you away before you become worse than the Dark Lord, things like that."

Harry's eyes did that familiar wary glance around that would warn him of oncoming danger. "How serious is it?"

But Malfoy leaned back in his chair, shrugging. "I don't know - it's hard to say." And then he casually strolled off, still looking as tall and arrogant as he had managed to do since he was a teenager.

Snape was getting nervous, Harry seemed to be surrounded by threats, and he thought he should go back to the safety of Hogwarts. Harry didn't object. He had no feeling of immediate danger, but sometimes danger came without warning. The hints of him being a dark wizard felt like danger, but there was no justification for acting against him, so he should be safe, shouldn't he?

Later that night, he was sitting in his own high-backed easychair he had conjured for himself in the staff room, feet on a comfortable footstool, and reading the fairly short book he had picked up at the book store. It was another book alleging that Harry Potter had Dark Powers, listing the few occasions when he was known to have shown those abilities, and inventing several more, along with hints of his sinister motives. The book was poorly argued, the examples used not well documented, and some not even feasible

The writing proceeded into what could only be called a diatribe - Powerful Dark Wizards, their sinister powers, and the dangers of allowing powerful wizards to live amongst innocent people. The strongly worded conclusion was that Harry Potter should somehow be stopped before he could kill again, without actually specifying how he should be stopped. He would have been tempted to dismiss the book as nonsense, but somehow it seemed to convey a conviction that he almost felt himself to share - patently absurd though that was.

At last he looked more closely at the intriguing illustration on the cover of the book. Someone had put a lot of work into the cover of this book. It showed a large snake, the face of Voldemort, and the face of Harry Potter - all interweaving and fading into each other. As he watched, he found himself being drawn in, until he shook his head and looked away. He stared into the distance, thinking. This book wouldn't have convinced very many people on its own - but something had been added.

He looked over at Snape, sitting at a table close by reading a newspaper. "Severus, look at this!"

Snape looked up, and Harry tossed the book over. Snape was an expert on Dark Magic. He looked at the cover of the book carefully, before quickly pulling his eyes away.

He gave his opinion, that Harry had suspected. "This is dangerous! It's magical, and will have the effect of convincing people there's nothing to choose between you and Voldemort. The snake is always linked with Dark Magic. I think you might have to do something about this, Harry."

"Right," said Harry, tersely.

The following morning, he disguised the cheek scar as best he could, and otherwise dressed as himself, apparated close to the door of the Diagon Alley bookstore, and entered straightaway.

The proprietor glanced up at him - and froze and trembled in fear.

Harry was taken aback for a moment, wondering what on earth was the matter with him, before he realised that the man had obviously been affected by the books he was stocking.

He crossed to the pile of books, and touched the top one with his wand. The illustration froze into something harmless, but Harry had added something to his magic, and all the books in the pile, and all the identical books previously sold, and those still in stock, were also frozen, much to the fury of the ancient and skilled wizard who had worked for months at that magic.

Harry hated the way that the bookstore owner was looking at him. He thought that the man would probably have fled except that Harry was between himself and the exit. Voldemort used to relish having people afraid of him. Harry Potter loathed it! He did try - "The cover of that book had magic on it. I'm not really a dangerous Dark Wizard."

The man still stared, pale-faced and shaking. Harry gave up, shaking his head and disapparating from just inside the door of the shop.

There were more hints of trouble to come. At the lunch room in the Ministry of Magic, a few months later, several of the older aurors were gathered, including John Dawlish. They were talking about Potter - that he was dangerous, that he had Dark Powers, that he would probably eventually become the new Voldemort or even worse, and that altogether it would be a good thing if one of those Death Curses finally got him.

There was some disagreement. Charlie Mason said that there was no justification for talking about Potter like that, that he had never shown any hint of wrongfully using his power. Dawlish turned to him, and said, "Why are _you_ sticking up for him? You were there at the train station. He certainly showed a bit of power, then!"

But Mason said grimly "He was only defending himself. How would you like to be locked away and kept deliberately sick? And if we _had _taken him, Voldemort would probably still be a threat. It was Harry Potter who defeated him, remember."

"Well, I reckon he's just got too much magic! I reckon it would be a good thing if he got killed by Voldemort's old followers," said a solid grey-haired wizard called Bruce O'Brien, "We'll all be safer."

Ginny Weasley was at the next table. She heard Harry's name, and she heard what O'Brien said. Abruptly, she rose to her feet and faced them furiously, "Harry's a g_reat _wizard, and he's a _good_ man!" she said, "How _dare _you say it'd be a good thing if he was killed!"

And suddenly a furious Ron was there, too, side by side with his sister. The two redheads glared at the table full of experienced and senior aurors, and they looked like they'd be happy to tackle anyone there if they said anything further about their friend.

Charlie Mason said, "You're quite right, there's not the slightest justification for acting against Potter."

Another of the older aurors spoke up then - "So what would you do if you were told to take him?"

Mason said bluntly, "Refuse. I always regretted what we tried to do when he was just a kid, I would certainly want a very good reason for going against him now."

Ron said bluntly, "Well, _we'd _fight for him." And the two young redheads did indeed look like they'd make a formidable team.

Mason said peaceably, "Well, it's unlikely the situation will ever arise."

But both Weasleys continued to glare. They were worried, too, and Harry received yet another warning. But what could he do? He hadn't acted dangerous for a long time - he was Harmless Harry, a peaceful school teacher going about his peaceful life.

Ron and Ginny's worry was justified. Cornelius Fudge had held a grudge against Harry Potter ever since he'd claimed that Voldemort was back. Fudge had denied it for nearly a year, and he never forgave either Harry Potter or Dumbledore for proving him wrong.

Harry's skills as a teacher continued to improve. The other teachers now routinely sent their students to him when they were having trouble learning a spell or charm, although they found it worked better if they reminded Harry what the proper procedure for making the spell was first. It was a continuing mystery to them that Harry had so little trouble teaching others to work spells, when his own magic seemed to work so differently to the magic of anyone else.

He still found himself prey to death attempts. He tried a trip to Hogsmeade once, when they'd been a quiet period of several months. He had so nearly been caught in the back that day! Just a gentle sound of a hiss behind him, and he did an instant apparation dodge that he'd practised long ago. The Death Curse missed. As always, the killer disapparated straight after hurling the spell. And Harry Potter knew - he only had to miss once!

Harry very much wanted to bat the Death Curses straight back to their originators. It took just a fraction too long to originate his own spell, but returning their own spell - he thought that could be done before they disapparated. Harry Potter had lost patience - he wanted to kill. Only by killing some of his attackers might he be left alone. But Cornelius Fudge was Minister for Magic, and Fudge, he knew, would be very pleased with any excuse to lock him away. He didn't dare retaliate against one lot of enemies for fear of being locked away by another.

***chapter end***


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer:__ J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter & his world. _

_Chapter 6:_

The summer holidays arrived. Harry had completed a full year at Hogwarts. And now that he had a home, and the choice of whether or not to be travel, he suddenly felt a surge of wanderlust again. He spent most of his holidays roaming the world. He visited Ben, his jackeroo friend in Australia, and he spent a cautious few days with Charlie and his dragons. And he did some exploring in Asia and Arabia. With plenty of money, one of his pleasures was choosing exotic gifts for his friends.

If it was a pleasure to travel, it was joy to return to a home that he knew and loved, and that was even reasonably safe for him. Harry, still known as Mr. Potter, Teacher's Assistant, resumed work at Hogwarts for the second year.

His teaching was competent now, and he had managed to finally patch up most of those holes in his knowledge that had been left from his own days as a student.

He seldom saw Ginny. Ginny, with her vibrant red hair and striking looks, had an air of self-confidence these days. She was an auror and aurors know full well that they are the elite of Wizardkind. Ginny had grown tall for a woman, as tall as himself. At five foot, nine, Harry still thought of himself as small, a leftover from his schooldays when all his age-mates had shot up to become tall, while Harry was still held back by the severe illness he had suffered at that time.

But Ginny and Harry avoided each other. Ginny was now engaged to the studious and pleasant man called David Bourne, while Harry went out with an apparently never-ending series of women who took him for what he was offering - short term companionship and a delightful time in bed.

Harry had not seen his friend Rachel for over a year. They had said goodbye one evening, when she told him that she was now engaged. Harry was regretful - he had become fond of Rachel. But he couldn't offer what her man was offering. He knew that for himself, life was still dangerous, and likely to be short. He had admitted to Rachel that people wanted to kill him, and she had sometimes seen him in the grip of nightmares that left him white faced and trembling. So they had had one last night of delight, and he had not seen her since.

It was a surprise, therefore, when he received a note suggesting a meeting at her place, just to catch up on things. They met and talked - and this was the problem and eternal limitation of friendship with muggles - he had to withhold details of so much of his life. Wizardkind, in general, preferred that muggles remained ignorant of their existence. There was even a Statute of Secrecy to ensure that they did, and Memory Modification spells were freely used when they inadvertently witnessed magic. Harry Potter disapproved of meddling with other people's minds, and had never used such a spell.

Rachel knew there was a mystery about this attractive young man, but never asked and never showed her doubt when he told her that he was a teacher. Somehow he didn't seem like any teacher she'd ever known.

After a time, Rachel said that she had something to show him, and disappeared into a nearby bedroom, returning with a baby which she placed in his lap. Harry had had nothing to do with babies, had never held one, and seldom even seen one. He was enthralled, handling the tiny fists and looking into the slanting green eyes of the tiny girl.

"It's beautiful," he finally said, wonder-struck. "You are so lucky," and Rachel, looking tenderly at her daughter and thinking of her loving husband, said, "Yes - I'm very lucky."

He visited more often after that, finding himself totally enchanted by the black-haired toddler. He soon made friends with Rachel's husband, who was a decent man, called Edward Moore. It was on one of these visits he received a severe shock. He had been playing with the child, sitting on the floor, building up piles of blocks which little Julia then proceeded to demolish, both of them laughing with merriment.

Edward and Rachel were watching him, amused, and enjoying his enjoyment. And then, Edward said, "You're her father, you know."

Harry looked up. "What did you say?"

"Genetically, you're her father." Harry had never counted months, had no real idea of the age of the small baby he'd first been shown, and had never imagined that Julia was anything other than the daughter of his dear friend Rachel, and of her husband.

He picked himself up from the floor, and sank into a chair. He stared at the child, and then looked questioningly at Rachel. In a low voice, he repeated the astonishing words, "I'm her father?"

Rachel was smiling at him. She had thought that he must surely have suspected before, but it was perfectly obvious now that he had been taken totally off balance. "How do you feel about that?"

Harry was still reeling. He looked at Rachel, blankly, "I don't know."

Rachel took pity on him then, especially as she had not finished dealing out the shocks today. So she took her attention off Harry, who sat staring at the child, and went off to supply them all with cups of coffee.

Harry had a cup of coffee in hand when conversation resumed. Edward told him that he could not have children himself due to an illness in his childhood, but that they wanted another child - a brother or sister for Julia. Harry said vaguely, "Oh, yes," not quite sure why they had told him something so personal. He was really rather slow on the uptake that day.

Rachel had to spell it out - they wanted him to sire another child for them to raise. Poor Harry spilt his coffee and turned an even brighter red.

Harry Potter viewed sex as the most wonderfully enjoyable thing in the world, and he had the body, the skills, and the sensitivity to give and to receive enormous pleasure. It was his habit to go out with older, more experienced women, and, like very many men, he had not thought of taking any responsibility for contraception himself. In fact, while logically, he may have known that sex sometimes resulted in babies, the idea of indulging in sex for that reason left him reeling.

Harry Potter had been presented with frightening situations in the past, and he took refuge in a pose that had served him well at those times. But leaning casually against a wall and putting on a cool, expressionless face doesn't work quite as well when that face is scarlet!

Edward, since he couldn't have his own children, had been happy to have another child with all the undoubted exceptional qualities of Julia, but now he glanced at Harry's obvious confusion, and took himself off, leaving Rachel to handle the situation.

Rachel, coolly and calmly, proceeded to explain to him just what was involved in siring a child without actually having sex. Harry stared at the opposite wall, and at last, stated that he had an appointment, and that he'd get back to her.

Rachel knew that he had an appointment, as he had mentioned it on arrival. But she rather thought that she would never see him again. But if there was one thing that Harry was not, it was a coward. He had every intention of getting back to her.

Harry did indeed have an appointment, It was one of these times that he went to Hermione's office to heal witches and wizards who were under the influence of spells that the mediwizards could not break. Hermione was now getting referrals from other healers for this vital function. There were seldom more than a few patients, but some of them had been afflicted for many years. He gained a satisfaction from this chore, it was so little for him, and meant so much for the people concerned. With continuing propaganda against him, he found himself frequently the object of fear. But his patients were sufficiently desperate to overcome their fear, and were always effusively grateful.

In consideration of the danger that Harry Potter would be in, arriving at an appointed time and place, Hermione had arranged for an auror to be stationed in the outer office and the office was further protected by an anti-apparation charm, put on straight after he arrived. So Harry got to know a few more of the younger aurors, many of whom had been at Ron and Hermione's wedding.

He performed his duties with his usual casual efficiency, but Hermione soon noticed that he was abstracted, and occasionally looked into the distance, even once appearing to blush for no observable reason. After he'd dealt with the people that Hermione presented to him, Ron joined them for lunch, as usual. And this was when Harry passed on his shocking news of the day. He'd had time to come to terms with it now, at least a little. And at first, he rather enjoyed the effect of his little surprise. "By the way, I'm a father!"

Ron stared at him open mouthed, and Hermione also looked at him with astonishment. His friends had forgotten how frequent were his liaisons, as he was usually very discreet. He was beginning to feel a sneaking pride now, and he went on to say, "She's the most gorgeous little girl - very bright, very knowing. She's called Julia."

Hermione leaned forward. "Who's the mother?"

Harry replied, "Rachel - you've met her."

"But didn't you tell me that Rachel dumped you to get married?"

"So she did. She only told me today - I didn't know."

Hermione was looking at him very sternly. "This is what happens when you go with muggles! You know they can't do the spells to prevent conception."

Ron looked askance at his wife, and rather hurriedly excused himself, saying he had to be back early, while Hermione proceeded to give Harry a very frank and full lecture on contraception, and what he, as a wizard, particularly one who could do magic without being obvious about it, could do to help prevent conception, when with either a witch or a muggle.

Harry's face was burning again, and he hadn't even got around to the really awkward part. He needed Hermione's advice! In spite of his embarrassment, he listened to what Hermione had to say, and was a lot more careful thereafter. And he definitely took note of the spell that he was to work in that instant after the woman was exposed to the risk of pregnancy.

He was looking down, fiddling with his cutlery. Hermione, lecture over, studied him. It was time for her to go back to the afternoon's work, but Harry didn't seem to be finished. Her suspicion was confirmed when he said, "I need your advice, Hermione," and she suggested that she and Ron visit at Hogwarts that night. "You look like there might be more shocks in store."

Ron and Hermione usually went to Hogwarts to see Harry, rather than Harry coming to see them, as it was quite a lot safer.

"Thanks, Hermione, eight o'clock?"

Harry went about his usual business that afternoon, with no real indication that he was disturbed. But Albus Dumbledore noted his coolly imperturbable face at dinner that night, and knowing him very well, wondered what was wrong.

When Ron and Hermione at last joined him in his rooms, he served them with some special treats that the house-elves had provided, and talked casually for a while.

At length, he came around to Julia. Julia was almost certain to be a witch, and he had already come to the conclusion that he would refuse Rachel's desire for him to father another child. A muggle-born witch or wizard always had extra difficulties to face - it would be better that any other child of Rachel's should be fathered by someone else. But should he tell Rachel and Edward that he was a wizard or wait until it was known for sure that Julia was a witch? After all, her mother was a muggle, and Harry himself was not pureblood either. Maybe she would miss out on the magical talent. But neither Ron nor Hermione could imagine a child of Harry's being a squib.

He also told Hermione what Rachel had wanted, this time managing not to blush - much, and Hermione suggested something that had never occurred to Harry. Maybe she could cure Edward. There were excellent spells for witches and wizards, both to ensure fertility and to limit it. So Harry contacted Rachel again, and said that he'd meet her and Edward the following evening. He also said that he was bringing a friend of his. This was going to be an awkward interview!

It was very awkward to begin with. Harry and Hermione joined Edward, and sat around uncomfortably as Rachel served them with coffee and cake. Julia caused a not unwelcome diversion by freeing herself from her cot and appearing at Harry's knee, clamouring to be lifted up.

Hermione was watching the pair. This was an aspect of her friend that she had never guessed, that he would like small children. And Julia was obviously perfectly familiar with him, even though, as Harry said, he had not known until the previous day that he was her father. The charming little minx didn't take after him, Hermione was thinking. She may have had black hair, and green eyes, but the green eyes were slanting and Hermione suspected that she might have the potential to be a great beauty once grown.

It became obvious that Harry didn't know how to get to the point. He was apparently totally involved with the small person on his lap. So finally Hermione started the difficult talk. She turned toward Rachel, and said, "Harry is a wizard, and since Julia is his daughter, it is almost certain that she will have magical talent too."

Rachel was silent. There had always been a mystery about Harry. She had once seen his wand tucked away in his bag, and twice she had thought she had seen him shave by running his hands over his face. And there had been times when he muttered unfamiliar words in his sleep. Rachel knew him well enough that she felt the truth of the bare announcement.

Edward was another proposition. "Don't be silly, there's no such thing as magic!"

Hermione pulled out her wand and conjured a coffee table, which very quickly silenced poor Edward.

Harry was still at a loss, so Hermione continued. "It's a difficult thing for a witch or wizard to be raised in an ordinary family, so it would be a bad idea for Julia to have a full sister or brother."

Rachel was struck by a sudden thought, and she looked panic-stricken at her daughter. "You're not going to take her away, are you?"

Harry protested sharply. "No, no, love, we'd never do that!"

"Then what?"

"Nothing," said Harry, "Nothing for a long time. Hermione has normal parents - they are still her family, it makes no difference that she is now part of the wizarding world. Later, assuming that Julia really is a witch, then she'll need to go to the school where I teach, a school of witchcraft and wizardry." Rachel and Edward had had a few shocks, but they were taking it far better than Harry had the previous day, when he'd been thrown so completely off balance.

Now Hermione pulled her biggest surprise out of her bag. "I am a witch, I am also a healer," she said, "It is very likely that I can help Edward sire his own child."

"My own child," said Edward, in a yearning tone. Like Rachel and Harry, he had been willing to be happy with what he could have, if he could not have what he really wanted. But suddenly it was looking like he could have exactly what he wanted.

He agreed without hesitation to talk to Hermione, and while Hermione and Edward went off to another room, Rachel talked to Harry. "You never told me," she accused.

"We're not supposed to," said Harry, "Only if there's a good reason."

Rachel asked that question she'd always wanted to ask. "Why are people trying to kill you?"

Harry finally answered her truthfully. "There was a very powerful and evil wizard. He had armies of followers. I killed him, and his followers have been trying to kill me ever since."

Rachel was silent. It was a whole different world that had been suddenly exposed. She looked at the little daughter who was now curled up in Harry's lap, asleep. "You say, she'll probably be a witch?"

"Almost certainly." said Harry.

Rachel brought up another worry, "Will I be able to handle her?"

"Of course, why not?" said Harry, "She's a lovely child. Just because she's a witch doesn't mean you'll have any more trouble with her than you would with any other child."

Hermione left some potions with Edward, that he was to take religiously for the next month. And then they would have to wait and see. But by the month's end, Rachel was suspecting that she was already pregnant, and in due course, gave birth to a son, and then another one later. Poor muggle brothers. Julia was going to put them through hell!

Harry's daughter, Julia, had two loving parents, and her doting 'Uncle Harry.' She was rather spoilt, very strong willed, and subjected her parents to some incredible tantrums. Whenever Harry was there, however, she was a sweet little angel, and he loved her without reservation.

Julia was not the only little black-haired toddler running about - there was another being brought up in America, a little older than Julia, the daughter of Susan, whom Harry had met on the ship that had brought him back to England. But he was not to know about that other little daughter of his for many years.

***chapter end***


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer:__ J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter & his world. _

_Important Note:__ When Harry was hit by a Death Curse at the age of 16, he was left with a sensivity to spells. A stunner can kill him, and even a lesser spell can make him very ill. _

_Chapter 7:_

By the third year after he started at Hogwarts, Harry Potter was twenty-four, and an established part of the school scene. He seldom had any discipline problems, as the students almost universally adored the young man who taught with such enthusiasm. To deter the girls from putting him in embarrassing situations, he had practised putting a freeze in his voice, in imitation of Severus Snape, which was usually effective when required. But it didn't come naturally, and he took care to avoid ever being alone with a female student.

He was a general favourite with the staff, although the caretaker, Filch, never took to him. Dumbledore enjoyed his company, and Harry learned a lot from the wise old man. But if Harry was not going to become another Voldemort, he was not going to become another Dumbledore either. Dumbledore was a philosopher, Harry was a fighter.

Harry Potter and Severus Snape had developed a close friendship, which was a constant surprise to other people. Snape discovered laughter, and his acerbic nature became a touch less acerbic - though he still managed to achieve instant respect and obedience from his students, and there were still some who were frankly terrified of him.

October 13th, and Harry was telling Severus about a certain incident in a muggle hospital - he'd been terrified that sometime in the night, when confused and concussed, he'd done something terrible to the overly bossy nurse. "I made a vow, then," Harry was saying, _"Never_ to do magic when not totally clear in the head!"

Snape had just reminded Harry of a livid pink Gryffindor common room, and they were laughing together as they turned a corner in a corridor - and Harry walked straight into a deflected Lollylegs jinx. Not for the first time in his life, Harry was sprawled on the floor, ashen faced, near death. Snape was beside him, feeling frantically for a pulse. Five minutes passed, and still he wasn't sure if he could feel a weak pulse or not, but Harry did seem to be breathing, even though so faint as to be almost undetectable. Students gathered, watching, silent, afraid.

Madam Pomfrey arrived at the run and took over. She thrust aside Harry's cape and shirt and felt for his heartbeat - a barely discernible flutter under her fingers. She spoke quietly - we must have absolute hush. No noise - and a prefect removed a crying child from the scene. It seemed that no-one else could tear themselves away from the drama as Madam Pomfrey continued to monitor the feeble signs of life. Professors Dumbledore and McGonnagal had also arrived by now, the students quietly parting as they approached.

At last, Madam Pomfrey decided that Harry was stable enough to be removed to the hospital. She was taking extreme precautions, and sent students scurrying off to make sure that he would be carried along hushed corridors. She felt strongly that this time, even a loud noise would be enough to make that heartbeat stop for good. With enormous gentleness, Snape lifted his friend onto the stretcher, and again, Madam Pomfrey paused and waited, her hand over his heart, before indicating that they could proceed.

Harry was again established in the bed beside the nurses station in Madam Pomfrey's hospital, joined only a few minutes later by Hedwig, who perched in her old place on the bedhead. It was three days before that erratic heartbeat finally stabilised and his carers could relax. Madam Pomfrey was exhausted. Healer Hermione Granger had taken some time off from her usual work at St. Mungo's, and she, too, had been on almost constant watch. Large signs calling for silence were scattered around the ward, and a notice board was left at the entrance to the hospital, which stated where a substitute nurse would see sick students, with also a note on Harry's condition, to avoid a constant stream of enquiries at the door.

Harry Potter opened his eyes, surveyed the familiar surroundings, sighed, and went back to sleep.

But when he woke next, he felt a lot better. He looked automatically for Hedwig, as she'd kept him company a few times in this hospital now. But she must have been off hunting.

It was late afternoon, and the ward was rather gloomy. He ran a hand over his face, but still wasn't sure how long it had been. He felt quite reasonable, and sat up. He looked around, but could only see the hospital assistant, John.

As always when he'd been ill, he felt a strong need for a shower, but knew full well that Madam Pomfrey would not want him leaving his bed, at least for a time. So he slipped quietly out of his bed, only staggering a little to the left, as he always did when he was ill, and set off for the adjacent bathroom. John, left on watch, stayed well back. He only felt comfortable with this wizard when he was safely unconscious. Madam Pomfrey was not far away, but Healer Granger was now sound asleep in a small room provided for her by Dumbledore.

Harry felt better all the time, and when he came out of the bathroom, refreshed, with face smooth again, he glanced at his bed with dislike. Instead of lying down again, he slipped on his robe from the locker, made sure his wand was in the pocket, and went to the window to look out at the setting sun.

An ambulance trolley was wheeled into the room. Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge walked beside it, and four wizards were with him, including the aurors John Dawlish, Bruce O'Brien, and two others whose names Harry didn't know. Fudge was walking importantly, and holding a piece of paper in his hand. Without noticing Harry, he went toward the Nurses Station, at the opposite end of the room from Harry's window.

Harry stayed stock still, his eyes flicking toward the one exit. He was the only patient in the ward, and this was giving him a very bad feeling. He had every intention of slipping straight out the room the moment there was sufficient clearance. But these were aurors, observant, clever. And even though he had momentarily faded into the background, with his black robe against the dark window, Dawlish called the intention of Fudge to the silent, dark figure watching them warily.

Two aurors went straight to the exit, blocking it. Harry, rarely for him, didn't know what he should do. This was the Minister for Magic. A direct fight would mean that he could never again live in the world he knew and loved. Even frightening them into letting him go would have the same effect - and these were tough men. He didn't think he could frighten them without hurting them.

Cornelius Fudge had convinced himself that Harry Potter was such a potentially powerful wizard, that he was too dangerous to allow to be free. While not intending to have him killed, there was a secure prison prepared, and Fudge had every intention of keeping him there, weakened and helpless, for as long as he lived.

Fudge did not regard himself as a bad man, he did not realise how his own love for power affected how he felt about others whose power could rival his. He hated Albus Dumbledore, but admitted to himself that he could do nothing against Dumbledore. But Harry Potter had the potential to be even greater, and Fudge wanted to put him away while he was still young, not giving him the chance to build up to the knowledge and experience of Dumbledore. He'd been waiting this opportunity for over a year now, and put his arrangements into effect as soon as he heard that Potter was ill and unconscious. Fudge was taken aback to see him on his feet, alert and probably dangerous.

Harry Potter did the one thing he could think of - he called for help. Without any indication that he was doing magic, he made an alarm sound in Madam Pomfrey's office, as well as the back rooms to the hospital where he thought she might be. He also made an alarm go in Snape's office, maybe he could help, and in Dumbledore's office, and hoped desperately for Dumbledore to hear and understand - to come and make everything all right.

Meantime he waited, leaning against the wall in a casual pose that hid his weakness - and put on the inscrutable mask that had served him so well in the past.

Madam Pomfrey bustled in. Fudge turned to her with his false, genial smile, and said, "We're taking Mr. Potter to St. Mungo's. I have the signed order here." Poppy glanced at the order, and took in Harry, conscious, out of bed, not missing a thing.

This was the Minister for Magic, but she briskly said, "There's no need for that - as you can see, he's perfectly well now - I was just about to send him off in fact." Harry was grateful, but wondered how much notice Fudge was going to take of this woman, stern and experienced nurse though she was.

"Ah, yes, but we have the Order," said Fudge, still smiling genially.

He turned to Dawlish, "Take him," he said, and four wizards carefully, cautiously approached Harry Potter. Harry saw that one had a syringe in hand. This had happened before. But now he was adult - surely he could do better than he had before.

He straightened himself, garbing himself in the cool dignity that could be daunting. And he took out his wand, holding it by his side. "I am perfectly well, thank you," he said, in the freezing voice he had copied from Snape. "I have no need to go to St. Mungo's."

The wizards stopped, looking at Fudge for instructions. They had expected to be loading a sick and unconscious man onto a hospital trolley, not facing a dangerous fighter. This was Harry Potter - he had his wand in his hand, and they knew how well he could fight!

Severus Snape entered the room and took in the scene - Harry stood at bay, but still somehow managed to look coolly in charge. The aurors faced him, but looked undecided, even nervous. Fudge was becoming increasingly frustrated. Now there were two witnesses, and Potter was obviously no longer ill enough that he needed to be transferred. It would look very bad for himself if he forced the issue, and he motioned his aurors back. But he was also very angry and strutted up to face Harry himself.

Harry stood motionless, his wand still at his side, and faced the Minister for Magic. Harry had never been a large man, but Fudge was short, and Harry seemed, without effort, to dominate. The overwhelming fury of the frustrated Minister for Magic increased further. "Think you're clever, don't you?" he hissed, childishly. No-one else was close enough to hear. Stupid in his anger, Fudge told Harry exactly what he planned; "You have too much power to be allowed freedom! I'm going to have you committed!"

Harry Potter said quietly, coldly, "If I'm so powerful, surely you must have thought that if you attack me, I could hurt you." And, in Snape's very own tone, silkily, "Surely it would be better _not_ to provoke such a dangerous wizard!" But it was doubtful if Fudge even took in the threat.

Fudge snapped to his aurors and they turned and left the hospital. Harry Potter stood erect and cold, looking after them. But once they'd gone, he swayed and grabbed at the wall for support. He'd been very sick, and the confrontation had taken more energy than he could readily spare. Snape strode forward, grabbing his arm and helping him to a nearby chair. Harry looked at the face of his friend and betrayed his fear, "He says he's going to have me committed!"

He shook his head, trying to throw off his dizziness. The fight wasn't over. He couldn't afford to give in to his weakness now. So he determinedly rose and went back to his locker, pulled out his clothes, and started rapidly dressing.

Madam Pomfrey said, "Harry, you're too sick for this!"

Harry was lacing his shoes, but said, "I've got to get out of here - he's going to come back!" and added, "Anyhow, what happened? Why am I here?"

Snape explained, "You walked into a hex. That was four days ago."

Harry paused, "It's getting worse then. It had best not happen again."

Madam Pomfrey tried again, "Harry, your heart only started working properly again last night, you could still die."

Harry only said, briefly, "Better dead than a prisoner."

"Where are you going?" Snape said, and Harry stopped again. Where was he going? He'd been so happy here. Leaving Hogwarts meant going back to a dangerous nomad life where he never had the chance to make friends. He looked at the faces of his concerned friends.

"I think I'll just go back to my rooms and depend on Dumbledore," he finally concluded. "They won't take me out of there, not by force, anyway."

Fully dressed, he rose again, but staggered, and was grateful for the helpful arm of Snape as it helped him keep a straight line. He was only ever like this when he was very ill or very tired, and then the accommodation he'd made long ago to his handicap, failed him. Madam Pomfrey walked with them, too, but halfway along the corridor that led from the hospital to the main part of the castle, he paused, pale-faced, sweating, dizzy. It was too far for him by the conventional route, so he turned to his helpers, "I'm going to take a short cut. I'll meet you again at my rooms if you want." And he vanished behind a tapestry.

Snape, as he had done before on similar occasions, examined the rough and solid stone wall where Harry had disappeared - it was an eternal mystery to him, these 'short cuts' of Harry's. He shook his head in bafflement, not for the first time, and took the more conventional route to Harry's rooms. Madam Pomfrey called after him, "Tell him I'm bringing Healer Granger - we'll see him shortly."

Harry had reached his rooms, but he felt very ill. He rested in his outer office in the high backed easy chair that he liked, and wondered what he should do. Fudge had said he was going to have him committed. Fudge was the Minister for Magic, but Harry had a vague feeling that surely he needed signatures of two mediwizards before he could have him forcibly restrained. He wished he felt a bit healthier. So many of his fights had been made when he'd been battling weakness.

There was a knock at the door. Harry took his wand out again before opening it. But it was only Snape, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, and, to his surprise, Hermione. She went to him and hugged him, "Hello, Harry."

He hugged her back, but she could feel his weakness and guessed at his dizziness. "What are you doing here?" he asked her.

"I've been here four days," she said. "You forget, I'm a mediwizard - I've been helping look after you."

To Hermione's amusement, Harry blushed. He wasn't sure that he wanted his friend to be his healer. But he only thanked her. His colour heightened again when Madam Pomfrey took him off into the bedroom to check him over, and Hermione also came. He looked away when Hermione took his wrist to feel his pulse.

He was still on edge, but agreed to lie down when Hermione told him firmly that she wasn't going anywhere, and would tell him the moment anything happened. Snape stayed too, but Madam Pomfrey went off to try and find Professor Dumbledore. If Fudge really was going to get Harry committed, it was very serious.

Harry was still very ill, and feeling temporarily safe with his two guardians in the outer room, he went to sleep. He wasn't sleeping very deeply, and was on his feet in an instant when a knock came at the door two hours later. One of the security guards was there. Harry said, "Hello, Jack. What's happening?"

Jack had a tray of sandwiches, and put that down on the desk before he gave Harry the news. "Well, Fudge is back, and he's got committal papers, but Dumbledore is with him. He says you're to stay here and definitely not to interfere. Me and Sturgis are to wait outside your door and make sure no-one comes in without Dumbledore's say-so."

Harry ate a sandwich, without much relish. He hadn't eaten for days, and yet he had no appetite and was desperately worried. Committal papers! And Dumbledore always cooperated with the Ministry of Magic. What if he had to fight? But he couldn't possibly fight against Dumbledore! He had always done what the wise old wizard told him.

Snape had gone off when the sandwiches had come, maybe to find out a bit more what was going on, maybe for a better dinner. Hermione was watching Harry, worried. He was very pale still, and when he submitted to having his pulse taken, it was racing, and less strong, she thought.

Harry stared blankly into the distance, but he was fretting, fingers drumming on the arm of his chair. After a time, he rose and began to pace, back and forward across the room, scarcely noticing Hermione's pleas for him to lie down, or at least to sit down.

Abruptly, he declared he was going out to find out what was happening, and strode toward the door. But Jack and Sturgis barred his way as he started to leave, and said firmly that Dumbledore's orders were that he was to stay here. Jack and Sturgis knew perfectly well that they were no match for this young wizard, and had orders not, on any account, to try and fight him. They were just to make it clear that Dumbledore wanted him right there.

Harry looked at them for a moment, and they held their breath, but then he spun around on his heel, and retreated to his rooms. But now he could no longer control his agitation. Unable to keep still, he paced the room again.

Hermione became increasingly worried, and tried to take his pulse. He stood still for her for a moment, but then resumed his pacing. Another knock at the door. Harry spun around, staring, pale faced, as she went to answer it.

Ron and Ginny, both looking worried, stood there. "We heard."

"What did you hear?" Harry demanded, as they came in.

"Some of the aurors are here, with Fudge. They had a job to do involving you."

Harry ran a shaking hand over his face. "They've got committal papers - What am I going to do?"

Madam Pomfrey entered then, and again Harry had spun around, looking defensively at the door. "Let me see you, Harry," she said, and she picked up his wrist, and told him sternly to stay still. He stood still for a moment until she let go, but then his pacing started again, more rapid than before. Ron noticed that some of the furniture backed quickly out of his path, even though Harry gave no sign of working magic, or even noticing.

Madam Pomfrey told him sternly that he must lie down, or even just sit down. But Harry didn't even appear to hear. So she slipped outside and found Professor Snape in his office, "We need a calming potion - he's going to fret himself to death!" Snape reached up to a shelf for what she needed and came back with her.

"Harry," Madam Pomfrey spoke very firmly, "You have to take this calming potion - you're not strong enough to get so agitated!"

But Harry stared at her as if she was mad. "How can I take a potion now? I'm going to have to fight," and he ran a shaking hand across his forehead, and started talking, "I couldn't stand being locked up - I'll have to fight. But it's Dumbledore! What if he goes along with them? What if he agrees? It's the Ministry of Magic! They've got committal papers!"

His pacing became faster, and more frantic, until he started to stagger now and then, once going down on one knee. Madam Pomfrey caught him, and took his wrist again, in the few seconds she was allowed before he was off again, she was sure she could feel that sinister irregularity returned. Harry looked at her in despair, "I can't fight Dumbledore!" He was white, shaking, but unable to keep still. "They've got committal papers - They want to lock me up!"

The others were watching, terribly concerned, not knowing what to do. Snape tried, "Harry, you have to take the potion." And he tried the authority that would once have elicited instant obedience, "Do as you're told, Potter."

Harry scarcely glanced at him, "Don't be silly." And he explained again to all these people who seemed so slow on the uptake, "I can't take a potion now, I might have to fight!"

Ginny came up to him, standing directly in front of him so that he had to stop walking. "You _don't _have to fight. We will fight for you - me and Ron and Hermione."

Severus Snape, leaning against the wall, straightened up, and said, "And so will I fight for you."

Harry was looking at them now, "Would you really fight for me?"

Ginny, still facing him, took his hands, and said "Yes, we'll all fight for you."

He was staring at Ginny, and his shaking began to lessen. But he swayed dizzily, and didn't protest when she led him to his bed.

"Sit down," she told him, and he sat. The others held back. At last he was listening to someone.

Ginny said firmly, "You have to take the potion," and she was quickly handed the glass of potion by Madam Pomfrey.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

Snape stirred himself, "It's just a calming potion - it won't put you to sleep."

Ginny was right in front of him, and he was looking at her as if she was the only one present. "Take the potion, Harry," she told him, and he took a swallow, and some of his extreme tension began to lessen. "Come on, Harry, finish it," said Ginny, and he still looked at her and her only as he drank the potion.

"Lie down, Harry," she told him, and he lay down. Ginny perched on the edge of the bed, and stroked his forehead. "Trust us. We'll look after you."

Harry closed his eyes. Hermione approached and took his pulse, noting how weak and erratic it had become again. She looked at Madam Pomfrey in deep concern. For a half hour, he seemed to doze, and the others relaxed in relief. No-one had ever seen him in such a state. It was a long way from the cool control that he usually showed to the world.

There was a noise at the door and Harry was instantly on his feet again. He was shaking as he stared at Dumbledore. Dumbledore crossed to him swiftly and took his hands, "It's all right, Harry," said Dumbledore, "They've gone. Fudge will be resigning as Minister for Magic."

Harry gave a sob and dropped his head for a moment, before, with a colossal effort, trying to resume some long abandoned calm. But Ginny was there beside him, and she took him in her arms, and suddenly he was crying, crying, as she hugged him.

It didn't last long, because he lost even more colour and sank to the floor.

Hermione was instantly beside him on the floor, feeling for his pulse again. For a moment, she couldn't find it, and looked horrified at Madam Pomfrey, "I think we've lost him!"

Madam Pomfrey felt for the pulse in his neck, often easier to feel than in the wrist. There was a faint flutter under her fingers. "No, he's still alive," and she waited there as he took a hold on life again.

Harry opened his eyes, "Sorry, sorry," he was apologising, "Sorry, I didn't mean to do that," but no-one was sure whether he was apologising for crying, for getting into a state, or for his dramatic collapse. He struggled to his feet again, and made no protest when Ginny helped him back to bed.

Dumbledore was watching him in deep concern, wishing he could have reassured him earlier. He hadn't realised how terrified Harry had been.

Snape was still leaning against the wall, and in a sarcastic drawl, said, "Well, after all this high drama, I think I'll go and have a cup of tea. It's really very wearing."

Harry was in bed, in the next room, but he turned his head, and said, "Thanks." And again, exactly what he was thanking Snape for was unclear.

Ron looked after Snape with some hostility. He never could understand how Harry had become so friendly with this man whose sneer seemed to be a permanent part of his character.

Harry was left in his own bedroom that night, watched over, in turn, by Madam Pomfrey and Hermione. Guards were still stationed outside his door just in case Fudge made any renewed attempt to take his freedom, or his life. But when in the morning, it was confirmed that Cornelius Fudge had indeed resigned, and that the committal papers had been over-ridden, he was transferred back to the hospital under the care of Madam Pomfrey.

Hermione returned to work, although she still visited frequently. Harry was very weak again, and docile, no trouble to his carers. He was obviously very ashamed of himself, repeatedly apologising for his behaviour, and tending to redden with embarrassment when that awful night was mentioned. He was still young enough to feel that his bout of crying was utter disgrace.

But he was also having nightmares, sometimes several times in the night - the same old nightmare - confinement, helplessness, imprisonment. And maybe this was part of the reason why he was making a slow recovery. Madam Pomfrey found that there were times when his pulse would again become feeble and erratic, although always picking up again after a time. He was taking too long to recover his strength, still having to be helped to the shower, or to walk down the ward to sit for a while by the window. And this was the time he finally spoke to John Sylvester, the hospital assistant, who always seemed so terrified of him.

John steered him to his chair by the window, walking close to his left hand side, with a helping hand on his arm. Harry sat down in his chair and looked wistfully at the weak sunshine outside.

"Do you want anything else?" asked John, still not quite looking at him.

But Harry turned to look at him directly. "Why don't you pull up a chair? I'd like to talk to you."

John hesitated, looking rather more frightened even than usual.

"There's no need to be frightened of me," said Harry, "I only ever fight when I have to, and I'm weak as a kitten anyway," and thinking about it, he added, "Quite a lot weaker than a kitten, actually!"

John was undecided. He didn't like being with this wizard, but he didn't want to disobey him either. So he brought up a chair, sitting down rather gingerly.

Harry had leaned back his head, and was indeed looking white and ill. John suddenly blurted out, "You were supposed to be sick when you just about tore down the hospital!"

"Has anyone ever told you _why_ I did that?"

John just looked at him.

"Smethwyck was drugging me. I needed to get away. I deliberately made myself as frightening as possible so that they would let me go, without me having to hurt anyone. I didn't hurt anyone, did I?"

John said reluctantly, "No."

"I'm sorry I frightened you. Please forgive me."

John said in a low voice, "I helped them do it. I always thought you might kill me for that!"

A slight frown had appeared on Harry's face, "Madam Pomfrey helped, too, and there's not many people who care for me more. Just don't do it again, all right?" And John at last relaxed, and started treating Harry more naturally, which was important to Harry, especially as he still depended on someone else's strength to get around.

Hedwig caused a diversion then, swooping into the room and landing on Harry's chair. John looked at her askance. It was his job to clean up any droppings, and he thought that owls had no place in a hospital ward. But Harry welcomed her, and Madam Pomfrey valued her. Twice Hedwig had alerted her when Harry had suddenly become worse, his heartbeat becoming feeble and irregular again. She really thought that he should stay in bed, but she would not try and curtail the freedom that he had nearly lost.

"Can I get you anything?" John asked again, and this time, Harry asked for a drink of water. John brought it, and then went about his duties, but he no longer shied away from Harry, and sometimes would sit and talk with him.

Ron came a few times with Hermione, and once, Ginny came for a short time. But she didn't stay. Harry looked after her wistfully, when she left, but pretended nothing was wrong as soon as he noticed Madam Pomfrey watching.

The nightmares continued, leaving him white and shaking, unable to sleep. Madam Pomfrey seemed unable to soothe him now, and he refused to take any potions, so that he was not getting the healing sleep he needed.

Healer Rutledge came once, examined Harry, and then, sitting down next to him, invited him to talk about his feelings. But Harry would not. He answered questions only reluctantly, if at all, and took refuge in an icy reserve that was proof against attempts to share his fears.

Dumbledore was frankly worried, but Rutledge was more optimistic. He pointed out that Harry had great courage and a great love of life. And although he appeared to have totally lost control of himself on that traumatic night, he had not hurt anyone, and had, indeed, not worked any magic at all - except that furniture had moved aside from him when he wanted to pace.

To Rutledge, too, it was obvious just why Harry had gone to pieces so thoroughly. He had questioned Madam Pomfrey and Severus Snape, and they had told him what Harry had been saying - 'They want to put me away,' - that he would have to fight - that he couldn't fight Dumbledore. It was simple really, Harry had gone to pieces because he didn't know what to do.

It took ten days, but one morning, Madam Pomfrey went to check on him and found that he'd already slipped off to have his shower, and she rejoiced at this disobedience - she had come to know that his docility was a bad sign, and that when he slipped out of bed against orders, he was getting better. He was allowed to leave the hospital a couple of days later, but Dumbledore did not allow him to resume his duties for another week.

Hermione was now his personal Healer. It was her decision, not his. Harry found it hard to overcome his embarrassment when she acted as a healer, but found it impossible to tell her that she was not wanted. Besides, he didn't really trust anyone else - he had had some bad experiences with healers. He merely hoped that he would not need her services again, and after all, he was in very good health, and likely to remain so unless hit by a spell - and then he'd probably be dead.

Hermione had been thinking about that. Like Harry, she thought that each time he had been hit by a spell, even a very minor one, the resulting shock had been slightly worse. Even if there were no attacks on him, he lived in a school of magic. There was almost bound to be a next time. She consulted with Snape, and together they devised a potion that was meant to be taken as a preventative device, a small dose every morning without fail. Then maybe he would have a chance of surviving when next he walked into a hex. Hermione was sure that any major spell, such as a stunner, would mean death in any case.

Dumbledore also had the risk in mind, and there was a further clampdown on magic in the corridors after the Lollylegs Hex incident, and as Mr. Potter was very popular with the students, and as so many of them had seem him nearly killed, the restriction was well observed. It became the fashion to have any duelling fights on a particular stretch of grass behind the Quidditch Pitch instead. There were even lookouts stationed to make sure that their Mr. Potter was nowhere to be seen.

Harry was lucky throughout his life. So often other people went to some effort to protect him, whether it was stationing extra security guards as Dumbledore did, or ensuring his safety from stray hexes as the students did.

He knew now that a fair portion of the student body had watched as he fought for life after being hit by a minor hex. And he could only guess at the rumours abroad about the Minister for Magic, and Committal Papers. He felt humiliated, and still bitterly ashamed at his loss of control when he was threatened with imprisonment. But he'd found himself in embarrassing situations in the past, and knew that there's not much to do except to go on. After all, one cannot leave the country every time one makes a fool of oneself!

***chapter end***


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter & his world. _

_Chapter 8:_

Madam Amelia Bones was acting temporarily in the position of the Minister for Magic until elections could be held. Harry knew Madam Bones. She had treated him fairly in the past, and had even taught him apparation on his seventeenth birthday, a special concession for his protection. He felt that if only she were to be elected, he would be a degree safer from his enemies, but he didn't even have a vote - that was limited to witches and wizards over the age of thirty. It hadn't occurred to him to try and have any influence in the elections in other ways until Professor Dumbledore suggested he attend a 'Meet the Candidates' night.

Standing against Amelia Bones was an old enemy of Harry's - Dolores Umbridge. Harry knew that if Umbridge was elected, he might just as well leave the country straight away. There was a third candidate whom he didn't know anything about, John Perceval, but Dumbledore thought he'd be fair enough.

Harry had never been interested in politics, but now politics was affecting his survival. He was always very interested in his own survival. There was a new skill needed - how to influence a vote. He talked and talked to Albus Dumbledore, listening, and learning, as best he could. He wanted to know who made decisions, and how to try and influence those decisions. He even wondered if he should try and find that Order of Merlin he'd been given so that people might pay more attention to him. But it was lost - somewhere back at Sirius Black's place, he presumed.

The skill of politics was alien to Harry Potter, and in the end, he chose a simpler way. He decided to destroy the reputation of Dolores Umbridge. He knew a certain reporter who was an animagus. Rita Skeeter could turn herself into a beetle - which made a very effective way of overhearing conversations without being detected. Harry planned to accept Dumbledore's offer to get an invitation for him to go to the 'Meet the Candidates' night, but as well as trying to make himself charming to as many people as possible in the hope of influencing votes, he hoped to trick Umbridge into admitting to a sadistic act in front of the beetle that was Rita Skeeter. He didn't tell Dumbledore what he planned, as he thought Dumbledore would be far too honourable for such an underhanded trick.

The night arrived, and Ron joined him, complete with his own invitation, to watch his back. Harry seldom went out in public for very long, and he knew he was still at risk from his other enemies.

He and Ron stayed with Albus Dumbledore to begin with, who introduced them to the influential people who could affect their lives. Harry waited for his chance. Ron knew his plan, and stayed back as he spotted Umbridge alone. The inconspicuous beetle sat on his shoulder, hidden by his collar. It seemed that Umbridge was not very popular, and maybe intervention was not needed, but Harry hadn't made it so far by taking chances.

"Hello, Professor Umbridge," he said, definitely being Harmless Harry for the moment. "I hear you're got a good chance to be Minister for Magic."

Umbridge looked at him, surprised that he would approach her, and as there was no-one within earshot, she didn't bother with courtesy. "Watch out, Potter - You're not going to last long."

"No. I daresay not. Do you know I've still got scars from those times when you gave me lines?" And as Harry hoped, she couldn't resist.

"Show me," she ordered, so Harry diffidently extended his hand, but clenched his fist, so that the fine white lines sprang into prominence. "Lee Jordan - his hand is scarred, too."

Dolores Umbridge held his hand, looking with pleasure at the fine writing that was cut into it. A wide smile spread across her toadlike countenance. "That was a good quill I had wasn't it?' she said with satisfaction.

Harry hung his head, "Cutting writing into the back of my own hand - how did you find that special quill?"

Umbridge was crowing, now, "None of your business, Potter," and now Harry tried for the ace.

"And you admitted in front of other people that you sent Dementors after me, yet you were never held to account. How do you do that?"

Umbridge smirked, "I have a lot of influence with the Minister," she said. "Uh, ex-Minister, I mean."

"Did you _really_ send those Dementors after me?" Harry asked sadly.

"Yes," she confirmed, "I did," and she finally let go of his hand.

Harry said, "And now you're going to be Minister! " He looked straight into her face with a pleading look, "What are you going to do to me, Professor Umbridge?"

"I'll have you put away for good, Potter," said Dolores Umbridge, "and there's not a thing you can do to stop me."

Harry, very pleased with his interview, slumped his shoulders sadly and walked away, giving a thumbs up to Ron who waited for him.

Harry and Ron casually strolled to a convenient spot, where a thrilled Rita Skeeter turned back into a reporter. "What a story," she was crowing, "What a story!"

"Can I see your hand?" He showed her his hand, clenching his fist again so that the almost invisible scars came into view.

"That would have been enough alone, but to admit to the Dementors - she must be a fool!" and the reporter strode away to write the front page story that would destroy the sadistic woman.

Harry didn't leave straight away. He did what Dumbledore advised, spoke to people, making himself known so that it was harder for them to think of him as a sinister Dark Wizard, to be feared. Ron was getting tired of it all, but for Harry, it was a matter of survival, and he was always willing to take some trouble to ensure his own survival. The place and company seemed safe for Harry, as it was an invitation affair, in a closed hall, and Ron stopped following him so closely. He did start to get worried when Harry seemed to have disappeared for a few minutes - but no, there he was, standing by the wall.

Harry was standing by the wall. He was shaking his head, why was he feeling a bit odd? And then he was approached by Amelia Bones, whom he had not yet spoken to, and he forgot his momentary dizziness. But afterward, the slight sickness came back. And a thought came to him - No, surely he was not under the influence of a spell. He stared into the distance, thinking. There had been nothing - he couldn't have been poisoned, as he had been too busy to think of eating and drinking. But he felt odd - something was wrong.

He crossed to Ron. "Time to go home?" Ron nodded.

"I'll just say Goodbye to Professor Dumbledore - wait for me?"

He was only a few minutes and he returned to Ron. He didn't want to have to ask, but… he felt sick. He felt strange, something was wrong. Maybe he was being silly - paranoid? Hypochondriac? But Harry had been truly sick often enough, and he was becoming more sure that something was definitely wrong. And at last he said to Ron, "Will you come back to Hogwarts with me?"

Ron looked at him in blank astonishment. "Why?"

Harry was looking away, embarrassed to admit he was making a fuss about so little. "I don't know, but I feel very odd. Maybe something happened. But I'm not badly sick or anything." He threw Ron a shamed look. "I just want you to come back with me - I may need to go see Madam Pomfrey."

Ron was immediately concerned, after all, it wasn't long since Harry had been very sick indeed.

Harry and Ron apparated back to Hogwarts, and Harry signed Ron in at the main gates that Harry hardly ever used. Harry was feeling all right now - almost. He still felt that something wasn't right, but he really didn't want to admit that he might be ill. Harry Potter was never mildly ill - he never had digestive upsets, or colds, or flu, or hay fever. He never felt faint, for no reason. When Harry Potter was ill, he tended to be desperately ill; when he was well, he overflowed with exuberance. This feeling of being a little bit ill was foreign to him.

They were still outside in the chill evening. Harry was dithering, beginning to irritate Ron. He wished that he'd make up his mind. Harry had begun to feel that he was just being silly, when he suddenly staggered to the left, a sure sign of illness. Ron noticed too, and was suddenly full of concern.

Harry swore bitterly. "Come on," said Ron firmly, "You'll have to go to Madam Pomfrey."

But still Harry hesitated, he really hated that hospital - he'd been there too often! Suddenly, he scooped up some stones from the ground, and threw them, one by one, as hard as he could at a tree. Quite untypically, he was swearing, _"Fuck! fuck! fuck!"_ But when Ron took his arm, he headed toward the hospital wing, again seeming perfectly all right, until there was another sudden stagger.

The ward was quiet, John was on duty in case of need, but dozing, as there were no patients. When Harry was asked whether he should get Madam Pomfrey, he was still undecided. Ron took charge. He said, "Yes, Harry's right. There's something wrong - and I'm going to get Dumbledore too." Ron had remembered those few minutes when Harry had been out of sight. Had something happened in that time? Something serious?

Madam Pomfrey appeared, fully dressed, at the same time as Harry saw Dumbledore and Ron enter. He must have come the moment Ron spoke to him. "What's the matter, Harry?"

"I don't know," said Harry. "Something might have happened - or maybe I'm just being silly."

Madam Pomfrey sat him on a chair and checked his pulse, looked at his face, asked him what he was feeling. Harry was self-conscious - what was he doing, making such a fuss about so little? But then he swayed in the chair and a wave of sweat broke out on his face.

Dumbledore was watching. Harry didn't usually make a fuss about nothing. He looked like a spell might have been put on him, but it would have had to have been the merest touch of magic or he would have been a lot worse. He turned to Ron. "Were you with Harry the whole time? Did he go off with anyone at any point?"

Ron admitted, "I lost sight of him for a few minutes, but then I saw him again and he seemed fine."

Dumbledore drew up another chair, and sat facing Harry. "Now, Harry, I want you to cooperate with me. What I'm going to do is help you remember what happened. I think maybe someone has tried to influence you, and it's important that you know what was done, especially if they've left you with instructions to carry out."

Harry asked, puzzled rather than distrustful, "How can you do that without magic?"

"I can do it," said Dumbledore, but only if you cooperate."

Dumbledore glanced at Ron, and flicked his eyes to the door. Ron took the hint, and moved to the other side of the room. Madam Pomfrey stayed, watching closely.

Harry still felt thoroughly self-conscious, but this was Dumbledore, whom he trusted implicitly. So when Dumbledore looked into his eyes, and exerted his will, he allowed himself to be led, submerging his own will to that of the wise old man.

"Now Harry, tell me if there's anything that you had forgotten about this evening?"

Harry stared at Dumbledore as he combed his own brain. At last, he said softly, "There was a very old wizard. He told me to go with him, and I did."

Dumbledore knew now what he was dealing with. "What did he tell you to do, Harry?"

Harry was silent a long time, but Dumbledore waited. "I was to start doing crazy things, not bad at first, but getting more and more crazy... and after a while..." and suddenly he looked up, fully aware, horrified, "I was to try to kill you..."

He was staring at Dumbledore in consternation. "Would I have done it?" But then answered himself, "No, I don't think so, maybe the crazy things, though, especially at the start... Professor Dumbledore, what did that wizard do to me?"

"It's basically a hypnotic suggestion laced with a touch of magic to make it stick. Very subtle, similar to what I was doing now, in fact, except that I used no magic." And then Dumbledore stated in a matter of fact tone, "Harry, we'll have to remove the suggestion."

Harry realised suddenly what that meant, and he cast a rather desperate glance around. Dumbledore would have to use magic on him, and magic was a very serious matter for Harry Potter. Dumbledore gently pressed, "Harry? Here and now?"

Well, at least he didn't have to lie down and have monitors stuck on him, and fingers feeling heartbeat and all the rest of it. He looked back at Dumbledore, knowing that he was making it as easy as possible for him, and nodded.

Dumbledore leaned forward and put his fingers on his head, there was the tiniest surge of magic, and Harry collapsed forward onto Dumbledore's chest. Madam Pomfrey uttered an exclamation and reached for him, and Ron was suddenly there taking the weight off Dumbledore.

"Into bed, I think, Poppy," said Dumbledore. The nurse hastened to turn down the covers of a bed.

Ron asked, anxiously, "Is he all right?"

Madam Pomfrey said, "He seems all right - nothing like as bad as he's been before."

It was only a half hour before Harry awoke, feeling fine. He touched his own cheek, even though feeling within himself that it had not been long. Madam Pomfrey was alert to his movement, and softly asked how he was feeling.

Harry answered in a tone of surprise, "I'm fine," and he thanked Madam Pomfrey for looking after him yet again.

He really was feeling fine, and said, "Poppy, do you mind if I leave now? I'd like to keep this private if possible - just for a change..."

"In an hour, then, if you like, and you're still OK," said Madam Pomfrey. "It wasn't at all bad this time - your heart scarcely faltered. Although I don't know why Albus did it like that - it wouldn't have taken much time to get you into bed first."

"He was making it easier for me, that's all," said Harry.

The following morning, he received his Daily Prophet at breakfast as usual, and was pleased that Rita Skeeter's story was all that she'd promised. He was re-reading it for the second time, a bit more carefully, and thinking that Rita must have put in an all night effort, as she had included some essential background information about the Dementor incident, and his subsequent trial for underage magic. There was no mention of Umbridge's threat - that she would have him put away for good, but there was the story of Umbridge's liking for having students write lines with a quill that magically carved the same lines into the back of the writer's hand, and a statement that several students had permanent scars - which was likely, although Harry only knew of himself and Lee Jordan.

Minerva McGonnagal, sitting nearby, was also reading the front page story. "Is this true, Harry?" she asked.

"Yes, but you know what she's like!"

"I didn't know she was scarring our students!"

Dumbledore, too, was frowning. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Harry was beginning to feel rather cornered now. "It was a long time ago, and anyhow, I only know about me and Lee Jordan. And it's not like it's serious - you can't even see the scars normally. I just didn't want her to become Minister for Magic, that's all, so I organised Rita Skeeter to hear what she had to say."

"You didn't tell me about that, either," Dumbledore mentioned.

"Well, it's a bit underhanded, isn't it? I didn't think you'd approve."

Professor Dumbledore suddenly smiled, "I thought it might be a bit of a waste of time, trying to teach you to be a political animal! Your methods tend to be a lot more direct - effective, though!"

But the old headmaster had more to worry Harry. "Do you have some free time this morning? I'd like to see you in my office."

McGonnagal was watching, and wondered what there was in that to make Harry look apprehensive. But neither Harry nor Dumbledore had forgotten the sinister incident of the previous night, although Harry had got his wish - he had finally managed to conclude an embarrassing incident without the whole world knowing.

He was abstracted as he went about his normal duties, and his students found him less good value than normal. But he obediently presented himself to Dumbledore at the appointed time.

Dumbledore had tea and scones ready for them to share, which further worried Harry, who responded by becoming the cool and reserved young man who had been so familiar to Dumbledore in the past. He persevered, giving him some more information about what had been done to him, and asking him for a better description of the ancient wizard who had been able to put the hypnotic spell on him.

Harry was ashamed that he had allowed it to happen - it seemed he was better at dodging a dangerous Death Curse that came speeding without warning, than he was at avoiding the far more subtle trick of an old wizard.

Finally, Dumbledore came to the thing that Harry would have preferred to avoid. "You know what I did yesterday, when I helped you remember what you had been told to forget..."

"Yes," said Harry, warily.

"I need to do that again. We must be sure that no trace of those suggestions remain."

Harry said immediately, "I _am _sure that no trace of those suggestions remain."

But Dumbledore said, "Harry, please cooperate with me."

Harry was reluctant. He was less worried now, with the illness of the magic gone from him, and he hated the idea of having his mind under the influence of someone else.

Dumbledore had very great skills in the art of hypnosis, and knew that with most people, he would not need their cooperation. He could do it even against their will, or without their knowledge, and without magic. But Harry Potter was a different proposition. He had pulled himself back to full awareness from his trance the previous day, so this time Dumbledore intended to put him under a much stronger hypnosis, a deeper trance - so that there was time to make sure that no lingering alien suggestion remained. And he needed to stray onto some sensitive areas, for this is where he would likely find the lingering influence he was afraid of.

If Dumbledore had his way, Harry would not be able to voluntarily free himself this time. He would forget afterward, for this is how it always worked, but just to make sure, he would tell him that he was not to remember what they had spoken of. He hated the necessity for this intervention, and he didn't want to lose the friendship of this young wizard with his unique abilities. But the incident the previous day could have had very serious consequences. He didn't believe that Harry would have tried to murder him. He was too strong minded to do something so alien to his character, but if he started acting irrationally, even in minor things, Fudge would appear to have been justified. Dumbledore might not be able to save him again.

Harry had risen from his chair, and was leaning against the wall, his face inscrutable. Dumbledore was thinking that this was not promising, but he waited. And he was rewarded for his patience - at length, Harry said briefly, "All right."

Without showing his relief at the young man's compliance, Dumbledore arranged a couple of chairs as he had the previous evening, close, and facing each other, and invited Harry to sit. Harry was matter of fact, but he still had on his expressionless face, and Dumbledore didn't really know how he was feeling. But when he looked into his eyes, he did not look away, and cooperated with Dumbledore, again allowing him to take charge. Soon Professor Dumbledore became confident that he had sufficient control that he could lead where he chose, that Harry was now unable to fight him, and would not be able to conceal any deep buried dangerous suggestion or alien feeling that could affect his behaviour.

He started with the command that Harry would not remember what they had discussed, and then questioned him again about the incident the previous day, more closely this time. Under a deep hypnotic trance, people can remember details that they would normally forget, and Dumbledore had Harry give a detailed description of the ancient wizard, enough for him to guess at his identity.

He then went on to ask questions about Harry's own feelings, alert for the alien commands that could be interwoven with a person's own thoughts and feelings. This was where privacy would be lost, and this was the reason that Dumbledore wanted to make absolutely sure that Harry would not remember afterward. It seemed like an abuse of trust, and he felt bad about it. He would never have done this without being utterly convinced of the necessity. All the same, he didn't really learn anything more about Harry than he already knew or suspected - the only surprise was the overwhelming horror he discovered in him at the thought of imprisonment and helplessness.

He was nearly finished, and again, just to be sure, he repeated his instruction that Harry forget entirely what had been discussed. His final question dug deep, but might be where he would find the unexpected - the alien command to kill Dumbledore.

"Harry, what is the deepest desire of your heart?"

There was a pause. Under this type of deep hypnosis, a person cannot lie even to himself, the truthful answer springs immediately to mind. A pause was unexpected.

The wrench when Harry shook off his trance had Dumbledore shaking his head, feeling disoriented. Harry pushed back his chair and started to pace the floor, but soon stopped and leaned against the wall again, regarding Dumbledore with some hostility. Dumbledore had to make an effort himself to maintain the apparent serene calm that was his trademark.

But Harry was still cooperating to some extent, "The deepest desire of my heart?" He repeated Dumbledore's words. "The deepest desire of my heart is to marry Ginny Weasley and have a family like anyone else can do. Satisfied?"

Dumbledore was satisfied. Harry had told him something deeply personal, something that he normally kept buried deep. It was not given to him while Harry was under a trance and could not lie, but Dumbledore knew truth when he saw it. Harry had told him his truth.

He still leaned against the wall, regarding him coldly. "Got a bit bloody personal, didn't you?"

And Dumbledore knew that he had been deceiving himself that Harry was ever under his full control. Not only was he able to throw off the trance when he chose, he appeared to have entirely ignored the instructions not to remember what they had discussed.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he said. "I had to do it."

"Well, are you finished now?" said Harry, still showing the same hostility.

"I'm finished now," said Dumbledore, and Harry abruptly left.

Harry didn't feel like lunch, but by the time afternoon lessons resumed, he was able to show a calm face to the world, whatever the churning emotions underneath. The last job of his day was to coach a couple of first years who were having trouble flying. Harry often took on remedial work like this, the Professors finding that he had a real gift for passing on skills, whether it was to master a spell or to master flying. So Harry was on his broomstick, where he always felt happiest. The two first years trailed behind him, carefully stationed a bit to the right, as Harry's broomstick still persistently veered to the left.

The girls quickly gained confidence, until he took them high, and then went into a long sweeping dive to the ground again, both the girls with huge grins on their faces as they lost their fears and discovered what a pleasure speed can be.

After sending off the first years, Harry mounted his broom again and treated any watchers to a demonstration of his superlative skill. At colossal speed, he soared into the sky, did his acrobatics, including the spectacular corkscrew that made his head spin, and repeatedly dived to the ground, soaring along only a couple of feet above the turf. As he flew, his resentment died. He understood that Dumbledore had done only what he thought he had to do. It wasn't Dumbledore's fault that he had been caught out - it was his own. It was Dumbledore who had saved him from, at the very least, making a fool of himself again.

Making his decision, he returned to Dumbledore's office, where he sincerely apologised for his rudeness, to the old headmaster's surprise and inexpressible relief. Dumbledore was a very wise man, he knew people, and very few people would have been able to overcome their bitter resentment at the sort of intrusion he had put Harry through. He had thought he'd lost a friendship that he valued very much, and had been grieving.

During the following weeks, Professor Dumbledore gave a lot of thought to what had occurred. Dumbledore knew his own powers and skill, and he knew that they were very great. And yet Harry had never been fully under his power when he had thought he was. Harry Potter had cooperated because he chose to, and only for as long as he chose.

And there was the other thing - Harry Potter had unprecedented powers of magic, he could bat away a spell with his bare hand, and could do magic without a wand. He could do powerful magic just because he wanted to, without the need to study the theory or remember incantations. And he could throw off a trance that Dumbledore had put all his own strength of will into making as deep as possible.

Dumbledore also remembered something that he had almost forgotten. At the age of just sixteen, Harry had faced Voldemort, had over-ridden Voldemort's will, and had made Voldemort do what Harry wanted. Some of that may have been due to Harry's unique bond with Voldemort, but it was nevertheless, an indication of some considerable mental power.

As a consequence, part of Fudge's fears came true. Dumbledore started to pass onto Harry Potter some of his own immense knowledge of magic. Harry had long since made up the gaps in his knowledge left over from his school years, but had continued studying, so that Dumbledore found that he was a lot more knowledgeable than he had been expecting. The only thing that he was still bad at, and would remain bad at for the rest of his life, was remembering specified incantations and wand movements. This was just not how magic functioned for him, and he was still perfectly capable of conjuring a couch using the incantation for conjuring a table, as he had done in Professor McGonnagal's class on one occasion.

Neither Harry nor Dumbledore ever referred again to what Dumbledore had learned about Harry - either when under hypnosis, or what he had told Dumbledore immediately afterward. When the newspaper announcement appeared of the marriage of Ginny Weasley to David Bourne, no-one could have guessed that it meant anything other to him than the happiness of his best friend's sister. But Ginny had sent a note to him privately beforehand, to warn him - she knew what they could have been to each other - if only things had been different.

***chapter end***


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer__: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter & his world. _

_Chapter 9__:_

Amelia Bones was voted in by the witches and wizards who had the vote, all those over the age of thirty, but excluding those who had ever been convicted of a crime.

Harry gave her two weeks to get settled in, before requesting an appointment. For a long time, he had thought that the only way to free himself from the constant risk of Death Curses was to kill some of his attackers with their own spells. Otherwise, their habit of disapparating instantly after throwing the spell, even without seeing its effect, meant it was almost risk free for them. But he thought that he just might be quick enough to bat a spell straight back to kill the attacker. He knew Dumbledore's feelings about killing, but he wanted the freedom to go about like any ordinary person.

He was relieved when Madam Bones expressed the view that batting a Death Curse back to its originator was the same as a duelling death, which was never regarded as murder. But he pressed for something more, he wanted a signed permission note. He simply did not trust the Ministry of Magic, even with Madam Bones in charge. It was well known why Harry Potter seldom appeared in public, there had been that newspaper photograph showing him narrowly avoiding not one, but two Death Curses. (The award winning photograph was on permanent display at the office of The Daily Prophet.) So Madam Bones was sympathetic, and gave him the note that he wanted.

But now he had a decision to make. He had decided he was perfectly willing to kill someone who was actively trying to kill him, and he disregarded Dumbledore's philosophy that to kill was always wrong. But should he actively court an attack, or should he just wait until it happened, as it undoubtedly would? For so long he had been cautious, and his caution had kept him alive. But now he had something dangerous to do, that he knew he was going to do, and he wanted to get it over.

In the end, he decided not to delay. He was going to do the job the following Saturday, and hang around in Hogsmeade, until at least two death attempts had been made. Hogsmeade had been perilous for him ever since he had killed Voldemort. He assumed that there was an especially good intelligence service there, that alerted his potential attackers to their opportunity. It was not a Hogsmeade weekend for the students, so there would be none of his own students to upset by seeing a killing, either his own, or, hopefully, his attackers. Harry did not fool himself. It made no difference that he had dodged or deflected dozens of these Death Curses, each one was a deadly threat. He only had to be caught in the back, or to miss the warning hiss of the incantation, or the slight movement to the side or behind, and he was dead.

That night he added the name and address of his newest girlfriend to the list of people to be advised that he was dead, crossed out a few old girlfriends, whom he assumed would no longer be interested, and after a moment, copied out the list on a fresh sheet of paper. There was no point in advertising the numbers of women who had enjoyed his company in the last year or so! Dumbledore had long known that Harry had a will in his room, and that he was depending on Dumbledore to organise what was needed. He hadn't told Dumbledore what he was planning, and he didn't know that Dumbledore had been told about the interview by Amelia Bones.

At breakfast Saturday morning, there was nothing in his demeanour to suggest that he was thinking of doing anything out of the ordinary, and Dumbledore thought he could probably relax for the moment, but asked, "What are your plans, today, Harry?"

Harry answered casually, "Hagrid has asked me to help him with his hippogriffs," which was quite true, and was what Harry would be doing in the afternoon - if he was still alive.

Dumbledore prided himself on his ability to tell truth from lies, and was reassured. He'd told Severus Snape that Harry might be thinking of courting a Death Curse, but Snape was very familiar with Harry's habitual caution, and thought it unlikely.

There is a difference between dealing with a dangerous situation that is suddenly apparent, and actively courting danger, and Harry was human - he was very nervous. He hadn't particularly ever wanted to kill anyone, but he wanted his freedom. It was not in his creed that each person has an equal right to live - in his simple fighter's philosophy, his own life was infinitely more valuable than the life of the person attacking him. When Harry Potter visited the village of Hogsmeade, it was with every intention of killing.

For a change, he signed himself out at the main gate, as was the rule for everybody these days, with the intensive security that was needed wherever Harry Potter lived. He suspected that the gates were watched, and he wanted to get this job over with. His wariness increased as he entered the small village, but nothing was really likely to happen for a while, so he thought he might as well pick up some books that he wanted. He was only ten minutes in the bookstore, when he felt those warning prickles of danger that had so often saved his life. Keeping one wary eye on the door, therefore, he made his purchases, and, thinking that he really had to have his hands free, requested that the three books be delivered to Hogwarts.

The bookstore owner had known who Harry was the instant he entered the store, and was rather nervous, discernibly sweaty, and very, very helpful.

Harry was hesitating. This was what he had come for. All he had to do was to go out that doorway and return a curse. But he still stood, tense, close to the doorway, thinking that he was being a coward. Finally, he shook himself. Cowardice was better than foolishness, and walking into an ambush when a wand was probably already drawn and aimed, was foolishness.

Outside the doorway, out of Harry's sight, a few yards away on opposite sides, two masked wizards were tense and ready with their wands waiting to deal out death. A third wizard, wand drawn, was facing the onlookers, who were mostly doing their best to retreat out of danger as quickly as possible. And yet a fourth was covering Severus Snape, who had noticed that Harry was not with Hagrid, and had come to find him.

Harry silently appeared on the opposite side of the street from the bookstore. It took a moment for him to be noticed, giving him time to take in the situation. Then there was a warning yell from the wizard who had been covering the passers by, and the first Death Curse came speeding at him. Harry, as he had planned all along, stepped forward and returned the curse with the palm of his right hand, killing for the first time since Voldemort. Two more curses quickly followed, one was not well aimed, and missed by a yard, and Harry returned the other, killing again. The fourth wizard was brought down by Snape, with a stunner. The wizard with the poor aim had already disapparated.

Harry looked about him. Two dead, one stunned - and he scratched his head. He had planned up to the moment of killing, but what now? When he had killed Voldemort, he'd just gone off to celebrate, and left the grown-ups to clean up the mess. But now he was a grown-up himself - just what does one do with dead bodies?

Snape arrived at his side, and Harry turned to him, "What are we supposed to do with them?" he asked.

But Snape said calmly, "The aurors will be on their way, we just wait for them." Snape went to the stunned wizard, disarmed him, and tied him up.

"Anti-disapparation?" Harry asked.

" Done," said Snape.

Harry leaned over, and unmasked the stunned man, looking carefully at his face. And then he crossed to the bodies, and in a matter of fact way, looked at the faces of the men he had killed. He didn't actually know either of them, but they looked vaguely familiar. He had an excellent memory for names and faces. It was a survival skill, and Harry Potter was an expert at survival. And then he waited, leaning against the wall, where he could not be attacked from behind. Snape joined him and they waited for the aurors.

"It's a good thing I got here," said Snape, "You just might need a witness."

"There are plenty of witnesses," said Harry, looking at the growing crowd, none of whom had approached them.

"One willing to testify," said Snape. "You still have plenty of enemies, within the Ministry as well."

"I suppose I do," admitted Harry, "I should have thought of it."

Two aurors apparated a short distance from them, to the accompaniment of two loud cracks in the air. And suddenly a red streak of light came hurtling directly at Harry, who flung himself to the side and rolled away, disapparating mid roll, and appearing again on the floor of the bookstore, bringing piles of books cascading to the floor.

"_Shit_," said Harry, in heartfelt tones. He waved his wand at the books so that they sorted themselves into neat piles again, and at the muddy wet patch on the floor, and it became clean and dry again. By now the nervous bookstore owner was beginning to rethink his ideas - does an evil Dark Wizard bother to clean up after himself?

On request, he showed Harry to the bathroom, and Harry unhurriedly cleaned the mud off his robes and face. He knew who that auror was who had tried to stun him. What he was wondering was if John Dawlish knew that a stunner would kill him.

When Harry cautiously peered out the door, Dawlish appeared to still be talking to Snape, maybe arguing, but a younger auror whom he knew was standing nearby. Harry gave a low whistle, and when the auror looked around, said, "Mark?"

Mark looked back at Dawlish, but then quietly went to Harry. "Why?" asked Harry.

Mark was looking worried, "Well, it's fairly standard procedure to stun suspects..."

"So if I go out there, will Dawlish try it again?"

Mark shrugged, "I don't think so, there's no justification..."

"Is he your boss? Can he tell you what to do?"

"We're of equal rank, although, of course, he's been around a lot longer than I have."

Harry pulled out Madam Bones' note from his pocket, which he handed to Mark, and said, "Check this."

Mark did so and handed it back.

Harry said deliberately, "I'm not going to allow Dawlish to arrest me. Should I go out there?"

Mark remembered that he was an auror, and supposed to be in charge, and said, "Stay with me. He won't attack if he sees there's no need."

Harry pulled out his wand, holding it at his side. He thought that Dawlish would not attack if he saw that Harry was ready and armed. It was only then that he left the shelter of the bookstore, and, accompanied by Mark, strolled toward Snape and Dawlish.

Dawlish turned to him, doing his best to bottle up his ire. "Decided to face up to the music, have you, Potter?" he asked.

"There's no music to face," said Harry, coolly. "I have it on best authority that returning a Death Curse is the same as a duelling death - no repercussions. I even have a note to that effect written by the Minister for Magic."

Dawlish looked on the brink of an explosion, and Harry asked, still perfectly coolly, "Are you going to remove the bodies? Or do you want me to do something about them?"

Dawlish looked away - he appeared to be almost choking. "We'll do that - you may go," he finally got out.

Harry nodded coolly, and turned away, never quite taking his eyes off Dawlish.

He strolled off then, far less casual than he seemed. Severus Snape was at his side, and he asked, "What now?"

Harry said, "Oh, home, I think. I reckon that's enough for one day. Thanks for your help. Four at once was a bit much!"

"How did you know not to come out of that bookstore?"

"Cowardice, mainly."

They followed the track back to Hogwarts, until Harry stopped, looking at the heavier tree cover beside the track ahead of them. "I think I'll apparate from here. No doubt I'll see you at lunch."

Snape nodded, and Harry vanished, reappearing at the creeper that made it easy to climb the wall of Hogwarts. Considerately, he reported to the gatekeepers that he was back. The gatekeepers, as always, shook their heads in mystification. Only Harry seemed to be able to enter and leave when he chose, and not use the main gate.

Word had not yet spread at lunchtime, and Harry was allowed to eat his lunch in peace, before joining Hagrid for the afternoon. He was matter of fact about the killings. It was a necessary act, he felt, neither particularly good nor particularly bad - just necessary.

By the time he appeared for dinner, though, it was a different matter. He could ignore the whisperings and talk of the students - he'd had enough practice, but some of his fellow teachers were very persistent, wanting details, and loud in their acclamation. He tried to freeze them off, which used to work so well, but the Muggle Studies and the Arithmancy Professors refused to leave him alone, apparently convinced that he was happy to be repeatedly congratulated.

Out of the blue, he lost his temper. "It's not a matter for congratulation, for God's sake! It was just a job that had to be done. So just _leave me alone!" _he said, more loudly and angrily than anyone had heard him speak before. And he abandoned his half eaten dinner and stalked out of the hall, leaving behind him some very surprised people. No-one had seen Harry Potter lose his temper before, or not since he was in his teens!

He took himself to where he could work off his bad temper - the gymnasium. And even though he rarely used it, this time he was hammering into the large punching bag, hitting with a lot more ferocity than when he had coldly returned those killing blows earlier in the day. But even in his black mood, he had placed himself so that he could immediately see when anyone entered. He knew there were a few giggling girls in the far corner, and ignored them. And he knew when Professors Snape and Dumbledore entered, and was tempted to ignore them, too.

But Professor Dumbledore conjured three chairs in the corner of the room, and Snape went over to the girls, saying smoothly, "_Exercising_, girls?" and they quickly took themselves off. Harry gave a few more forceful blows to the punching bag, and, with a bare glance at the waiting professors, had a quick shower, vanished the exercise shorts he had conjured, and dressed.

Dumbledore was remembering an emaciated boy who had pleaded to stay in the Gryffindor rooms for just a bit longer. Dumbledore had understood him then, to mean that he would take himself off to the hospital when the time came for him to die. But this day, Harry had been wearing just a brief pair of exercise shorts, and was looking strong, fit and muscular. In spite of all that had been set against him, Harry Potter had survived. He suddenly thought that maybe Harry was right after all - maybe the job that he had done today was one that needed to be done, part of his battle for survival.

Harry, still looking rather black, joined Snape and Dumbledore, sitting in the chair that was waiting for him, and defensively looked at Dumbledore and said, "Yes?"

But Dumbledore took both Snape and Harry by surprise, by saying, quite gently, "You're probably right - it was just a job that had to be done."

Harry looked his surprise. " I thought you'd give me a lecture!"

"Not this time," said Dumbledore, smiling, and Harry's bad temper evaporated.

Dumbledore said casually, "By the way, you lied to me this morning."

"I didn't _lie," _said Harry, "Just maybe misled you a bit."

"I didn't think anyone could lie to me without me knowing."

Harry grinned, "You did say the other day that I had unexpected talents..."

Snape gave a crack of laughter at this, and Dumbledore smiled, too.

"So, anyway, what did you want?"

"Just a few more details about this morning - just tell it in your own words."

Harry was brief. "I went out the main gates so they'd have warning, went to the bookshop, but instead of coming straight out, I apparated over the other side of the street. There were four. I killed two, and Severus stunned one. There was another got away. And after that, the auror, John Dawlish tried to get me with a stunner - and I'd _really_ like to know whether he knew that a stunner would kill me!"

"Then what?"

"Nothing much, they let us go."

Snape put in, "That stunner was a very near miss!"

"I wasn't expecting it," answered Harry simply.

"Well, I hope it works," said Dumbledore, getting up and vanishing the chairs. The three started to leave together.

"Have you forgotten your exercise clothes?" Snape reminded Harry.

"No, there were only the shorts and they were conjured, so I just vanished them."

"That's brave, wearing conjured clothes - especially with those infatuated girls watching," Snape said.

Harry grinned. "That's the first time I've risked it, but I forgot my gear and I was really too angry to care. Anyhow, my furniture seems to last for years, surely a couple of hours is not much to ask of a pair of shorts!"

Snape stopped in his stride, and turned to Harry, "_How _long does your furniture last?"

"I don't really know - I'm still waiting for some to disappear."

Dumbledore was curious now. "The official record is sixteen months. Most wizards make the experiment at some time - my stuff lasted about fourteen months, but that was when I was very young. I don't think I've tried it since."

Harry was getting self conscious now, and didn't volunteer any further information. He was always cagey when it seemed he could do things that other people could not. Snape and Dumbledore were still curious.

Snape asked, "Didn't you conjure a hospital bed for Madam Pomfrey once? She wouldn't have used it, obviously - but maybe she would know how long it took to vanish," and he turned his steps to the nearby hospital, followed by Dumbledore, and, after a moment, by Harry, suddenly curious too.

Madam Pomfrey welcomed them, but at first, could not remember what they had done with the hospital bed. So they checked the store rooms, after a time finding a bed with a tag, saying 'Conjured, do not use.' Snape gave the bed a shake, finding it perfectly solid.

"You were seventeen when you conjured this," he said, "And you're what, twenty-four now?"

Harry was looking away, feeling increasingly uncomfortable, but he nodded.

"Seven years! You haven't just broken the record, you've smashed it!"

Madam Pomfrey was looking at him with amazement now, too - and he didn't like it.

"Please keep it quiet," said poor Harry, "It'll only make more enemies for me if it's known."

But Snape and Dumbledore were intrigued. Snape turned to Madam Pomfrey, "Why didn't you vanish it? It was useless to you, after all."

"It wouldn't vanish," said Madam Pomfrey, "So we just put it away to vanish in its own good time."

"I'll vanish it now for you, if you want," put in Harry, hoping to get rid of the evidence, but Snape said, "Absolutely not!"

Harry had out his wand, but Dumbledore put up his hand, "No, leave it there."

Harry looked at his watch instead, trying to think of an excuse to escape this increasingly embarrassing interview.

Dumbledore was looking at Harry. "People have had trouble undoing your spells before, haven't they?"

"Don't think so," he said, "Look, I've really got some jobs to do - how about we talk about this some other time."

But Snape drawled, "I think we need to do some experimenting, don't you, Albus?"

And Dumbledore said, "Come on, Harry, no time like the present. Let's go to my office," and Snape and Dumbledore turned away. Harry stood stock still for a moment, until Dumbledore looked back, and said, "Harry?" He shot a despairing glance at Madam Pomfrey, and followed them.

To Dumbledore's amusement, Harry was looking thoroughly ashamed now, as if it was some great crime to have more magical power than anyone else. Snape wondered for a moment if he should leave, but this was too interesting. He wasn't going to leave unless ordered. Dumbledore arranged for tea and scones, which nicely distracted Harry, who had discovered he was hungry. Professor McGonnagal knocked and entered. At a questioning glance from Harry, Dumbledore said, "Yes, I invited her." Harry helped himself to another scone, but he was looking at the door, wondering what his chances were of escape.

At length, Dumbledore said, "Harry, stop looking as if you've been found out in a crime. Won't you indulge our curiosity? We'll keep it between ourselves."

Harry sighed, "What do you want me to do?"

"How about you conjure a table, and we'll just see how easy it is to vanish."

Harry took out his wand, and conjured a small table, which they all, even Dumbledore, found impossible to vanish again.

"Vanish it now, thanks, Harry," said Dumbledore, "No, not with your wand," as Harry raised it.

So Harry shrugged and glanced briefly at the table, which vanished.

Severus Snape stared with his mouth open. Madam McGonnagal had known that Harry could do this, but neither she nor Dumbledore had ever seen it, and they were both silent.

Harry asked hopefully, "Can I go now?"

But Snape asked, "What else can you do, Harry?"

"You know I heal people," Harry offered.

"Yes, but what else?"

"I don't know. What do you want?" He felt cornered, and again he looked at his watch.

Dumbledore finally took pity on him, and said, "All right, then, off you go."

Harry hurried out without a backward glance. Minerva McGonnagal was amused. "He has all this power, and he still acts as if he was a schoolboy caught in mischief!"

But Severus Snape said soberly, "That power is the reason that Fudge wanted to have him committed. He was terrified that night - he has good reason for hiding what he can do."

Dumbledore agreed, "Severus is quite right. This must go no further than my office."

But the three senior professors sat and talked about Harry's abilities for another two hours before finally dispersing.

Meantime Harry hurried away, feeling indeed like a schoolboy caught out in mischief. He forgot to worry about the unwanted talk and congratulations that he had received because of that day's killings. But the display of his skills bothered him, and that night he woke from one of his nightmares that left him white and shaking. And after a time, he rose, dressed, and prowled the corridors of Hogwarts as he sometimes did when he couldn't sleep.

The senior professors refrained from putting Harry on the spot about his magic again, and the excited talk about the killings soon died down, but there was one lasting result of that early December day. Harry lost his reluctance to wear his own conjured exercise clothes. And since he vanished the sweat soaked clothes afterward anyway, the shorts and singlets he conjured for himself became increasingly lurid in colour and pattern as he gave his own taste for extreme colour contrasts free range.

When he remembered the fascinating interweaving images on the book cover he still had, he went further. The crimsons, violets and almost iridescent oranges began to move, until they were quite nauseating to look at.

Although he was regularly in the gym, his time of exercising varied day to day, as he didn't like having an audience, especially not the besotted girls who were apt to follow him whenever there was an opportunity. He was not working out in order to acquire bulging muscles, rather he felt a need to extend himself physically, to stretch muscles to the point of fatigue. He found pleasure in feeling his own strength, knowing from sad experience how it felt to be feeble.

The incredible clothing he was now using was not seen by anyone else for a couple of weeks. But then Snape came looking for him for something. Harry was using the rowing machine, and wearing a colour combination that day that was quite stunning. And just to make things more interesting, an image of a black snake would suddenly weave through the riotous colour. Snape stared, tore his eyes away, stared again, and at last went into paroxysms of laughter.

Harry grinned at him. He liked to make Snape laugh. "You like it?" he asked. "I'll make you a shirt for Christmas."

"No, no! Please don't!" Snape choked.

But Harry presented most of his friends that year with some absolutely incredible garments that he had conjured, to general hilarity and enjoyment. He was sharing Christmas dinner with the Weasleys that year, and was tickled pink when redheaded Ron presented himself at the table wearing the mostly crimson, murky yellow, and vivid purple shirt, that occasionally showed a speeding Quidditch player shooting across the background. Ron was driven off, the company declaring that they could not possibly eat with that at the table!

None of the recipients of the gifts threw them away, though, even if they did hurt to look at. Ginny wrapped her blouse carefully and put it away in a bottom drawer. Somehow it seemed so very much Harry!

***chapter end***


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer__: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter & his world. _

_Chapter 10:_

It was three weeks after Christmas, and Harry was browsing in Flourish & Blotts, the bookstore in Diagon Alley. Alvin Blotts seemed to have finally overcome his fear of him, even suggesting that Harry might like to vet any books about him before he stocked them. Harry was surprised and pleased. It would certainly help if people were not constantly told what a wicked and dangerous person he was. Freedom of opinion was all very well, but dangerous libels, and worse, spells put on unsuspecting readers, yes, he would very much like the opportunity to reduce the numbers of those books being sold.

Then and there, he was handed a thin children's book. He looked at it, interested. It purported to be a story of his travels when he had been overseas. He flipped through it, laughing occasionally at the totally imaginary adventures he was supposed to have had. After fifteen minutes, he handed it back. "Not a word of truth in it, but harmless. I especially liked the adventure with the murderous gang of trolls!"

And now Harry was ready to leave, again undecided whether to cautiously disapparate, or to leave as any other person would, hoping that no-one was waiting in ambush. There were no warning prickles of danger, but while he had learned to take notice of his feelings, he also knew that danger came sometimes without any warning whatsoever.

Finally, he silently disapparated from inside the bookshop, reappearing at the ice-cream shop for his favourite treat. Only five minutes afterward, he was joined by Ron and Mark. "We're on duty," Ron said. "The Ministry had word that you were out, and we've been sent to clean up the bodies!"

Harry laughed easily. "I'm hoping there won't be any. Word should have spread by now, maybe there'll never try again!" But both Ron and Mark noted that his back was to the wall, and his eyes were alert for danger. He asked, "Are you allowed to join me for an ice-cream?"

They looked at each other, and Mark said, "Why don't you join Harry here, and I'll watch from the corner."

So Ron sat down, and Harry asked about Ginny. "She seems really happy. David adores her." And then Ron looked carefully away from the face of his friend, and said casually, "She's going to have a baby."

There was a short pause, then Harry said perfectly calmly, "That was quick."

Ron answered, still not looking at Harry, "They did have a long engagement of course. I sometimes wondered if they'd ever get around to the actual wedding."

"I always knew they would in the end. David's a nice chap, I think she'll be very happy with him." and then he asked something that had been bothering him. "Is it common knowledge among the aurors that a stunner would kill me?"

Ron had heard about the killings in Hogsmeade, and its aftermath. "I've never heard it mentioned - but everyone at Hogwarts would have known about the Lollylegs Hex."

"Yes - I expect word has got around. If anyone asks, I just say that I've got a weak heart. I still want it kept quiet. Not many people can do a Death Curse, I don't want to add to my worries by having people trying to kill me with something like a Trip Jinx!"

Ron changed the subject. "How long are you planning on hanging around here?"

Harry stood up. "I've been here long enough now that they must know I'm here. It remains to be seen whether they'll try anything or not." His eyes were still warily searching his surroundings, checking the witches and wizards close for possible likely attackers. He nudged Ron, who had stood up with him. "See that wizard over there, on his own? I think I've seen him before. Do you know him?" Ron looked carefully at the wizard indicated, but said not.

Harry still stood, looking carefully all around him. "I'm going to walk along that long wall of Gringotts, and if nothing happens then, I'm going home. This is too nerve racking!" He grinned. "You know, I'm really quite hurt you're not wearing that shirt I gave you, I think it's just the thing for an auror on duty," and that was when the green streak of light appeared, aimed not at Harry, but at Ron.

Harry had heard the warning hiss of the incantation, but the direction took him by surprise, and he only just had time to lunge toward Ron and hit the spell to the ground. Harry was pale with the shock, and stared at his friend. "God, Ron, I'm sorry, I never thought they'd go for you!"

Mark was running to them, wand in hand. "Did you hear him disapparate?"

"No, he might still be here," said Ron, pulling himself together rather more quickly than Harry was managing.

The two aurors commanded the people who were close to stop and account for themselves. Harry still stood, pale-faced, but eyes everywhere as he waited. He had nearly lost his friend, and he blamed himself! He should not have let anyone come close to him when he knew he was probably still threatened. But why should anyone try and kill Ron? Was it a bad aim? Or did someone think that that was the best way to hurt Harry?

Or could it be a ploy to distract him so that he could be killed? It seemed that this might be the best guess, as a wizard stepped away from the rest of the crowd, and another death spell shot toward Harry. This time the death spell was returned to its originator, not coldly, as a necessary act, but viciously. This was the man who had nearly killed Ron! The effect was identical. The wizard whom Harry had indicated to Ron earlier, was dead.

Harry was not relaxed. He was still scanning the rest of the crowd, and even the area around, watching for suddenly apparating attackers, including John Dawlish! But the additional aurors who appeared were Alec McVeigh and Charles Mason. He had reason to distrust both these new arrivals. McVeigh, as head of department, had presumably organised the two attempts to take Harry when he had been just a teenager, as well as the more recent attempt not three months ago, and Mason had participated in the first of those attempts. So it was the coolly daunting Harry Potter who faced these senior aurors, rather than the more lively model he showed his friends.

He was not given a hard time. Mark and Ron were there to say exactly what happened, and Harry had committed no crime under wizarding law. After a brief statement, he was allowed to go. It was noticed, though, that even surrounded by aurors, he still had his back to the wall, and his eyes were never still. When he left, he silently disapparated from their midst, although this might have been more because of the waiting reporters and photographers than from fear of attack.

He had killed three times in the last few months. It seemed to have worked - the attacks stopped. Harry remained wary, however. He had been in danger too long to think that three deaths were going to make him safe forever. He was talking about it to Snape one day. "I don't know why they don't just use a gun. I don't reckon I could hit away a bullet, and there'd be less warning."

But Snape drawled in his sneering voice, "A gun? A _muggle_ weapon? You really are showing your common roots."

Harry laughed at him. "Is that what it is? Simple snobbery?"

"A pure-blood wizard would not dream of using a _muggle _weapon."

Harry was looking at him, merriment on his face. "I got into a muggle fight last night - it was tremendous fun!"

Snape dropped his supercilious expression, and said affectionately, "Harry Potter, you're a barbarian!"

Harry had not forgotten the ancient wizard who had meddled with his mind. Dumbledore would not give him his name, although Harry was pretty sure he knew who it was. But he did continue to take Harry along to some of the social occasions that he attended, that were also attended by influential and senior witches and wizards. He began to know his way around this world.

One day, he found his prey. It was at a large evening function - many guests. Harry had been talking to John Perceval, when he spotted the ancient wizard talking to two witches, who looked just as ancient. "Who's that?" he asked Perceval, indicating the old wizard.

"Zachariah Dawlish," said Perceval.

"Ah," said Harry, "Do you know if he's any relation to John Dawlish, the auror?"

"I wouldn't know - but probably, I'd say."

Harry waited and watched for his opportunity. And then, when Dawlish was momentarily alone, he crossed the room to him. Dumbledore noticed and sprang to the alert. Harry was looking positively pantherish, but Dawlish had beaten him once, and Harry was only twenty-four - too young to take on a man like Dawlish.

Zachariah Dawlish could not believe his luck. The young fool was going to let him have another go. There was no time to get out his wand, which he had used for the initial persuasion on the previous occasion, but Dawlish was an excellent hypnotist, and like Dumbledore, was supremely confident that Harry would be under his control very quickly, even without magic.

He locked eyes with his prey, and Harry met his eyes - perfectly blandly at first, and then exerting his own will, so that it was Dawlish who could be manipulated as Harry chose. But Harry suddenly hated this, he was not going to meddle with anyone's mind, and he abruptly turned away, leaving Dawlish shaking his head and feeling dazed.

Harry glanced back at him, and reverted to his old schoolboys' trick. Zachariah Dawlish would suffer boils for the next couple of years. Dawlish was looking at him baffled, confused. Harry laughed in his face. "Now you can just wait and see what instructions I have left for you!"

Zachariah Dawlish gave him a sick look, and was off.

Dumbledore was at Harry's side. "Harry, are you all right? Why did you let him do it again?"

Harry grinned, "No, I did it to him. He's going to worry for years what I've told him to do!"

"What did you tell him to do, Harry?"

"Well, nothing actually - I decided I didn't approve of meddling with someone else's minds - so I gave him boils instead!"

Dumbledore gave a crack of laughter. "Still the schoolboy tricks, eh?"

But when they returned to Hogwarts, he wanted Harry to submit to another hypnotic examination - just to make sure that he really had won the encounter as Harry asserted. It really sounded too unlikely. But Harry refused and promised to search his own mind, as he'd been taught. But he did tell Dumbledore, in detail, what had occurred, and Dumbledore remembered the beaten look of Dawlish as he retreated and acknowledged that it really did sound as if Harry had won the encounter. He did not insist, and suspected that Harry would not have agreed this time in any case. And he knew for sure now, that he could not do it without Harry's cooperation.

_**x**_

Dumbledore continued to pass on to Harry some of his extensive knowledge of magic, gleaned from a lifetime of travel and experience. Harry's rearranged timetable gave him two hours on Tuesdays and two hours on Thursdays with Dumbledore, with the rest of those afternoons free to study. Harry was enthralled. He studied and listened and learned, both to Dumbledore's knowledge and to Dumbledore's philosophies.

Dumbledore learned something from Harry, too. He questioned him about that old link with Voldemort, trying to sort it into what he knew about such things. Harry gave him some information, but even after all these years, he was reluctant to say much. Dumbledore also questioned him about his magic, and didn't do much better. Harry simply didn't know how he was able to do the things he did.

He was able to able to put forward one theory for Dumbledore's consideration. The change in the way he did magic dated from when he had become sick again after appearing to be getting better. He was simply trying to make things easier for himself as he struggled to get to lessons while continually getting weaker. He even remembered what he thought was the first time - needing to go through a closed door with his hands full, and the door, instead, just opened for him.

Harry had no qualms of conscience about not doing as much work as the other teachers, as he still thought he was working only for bed and board. He had always been wealthy in the wizarding world, and like many a man born wealthy, he took it for granted, and never bothered counting Galleons. He was wrong about his pay. Dumbledore quietly paid his salary directly into Harry's vault at Gringotts, and he was also being paid, through Hermione, for his spell-breaking work, and he didn't know about that, either.

But Harry was earning his teacher's salary. He was still an extra in the school, filling in whenever wanted, but his work with study groups and remedial groups was raising the general standard of pass rates significantly. Dumbledore announced that the following year, his fourth year at the school, he was to be known as Professor Potter, a proposition that Harry found almost funny. He just couldn't imagine himself as a professor. The students often forgot to treat him as a professor, too. Most of the teachers had heard him being addressed as 'Harry' by the students now and then, and although Harry had worked quite hard to address the students formally and correctly, he still slipped sometimes..

He was earning his pay for his work at Hermione's office, too. What he did may have been easy for Harry Potter, but his patients were those people whom no-one else could help. Hermione was getting referrals from overseas now, and it was beginning to look like the weekly hour might be too little. Not that it took long for Harry to work his magic, but sometimes it took a while to shake off the grateful wizards and witches, many of whom had been suffering for decades.

_**x**_

Harry Potter knew how to enjoy himself. If life was going to be short, it should not be wasted. But sometimes Harry's ways of enjoying himself could be hazardous.

He never provoked muggle fights, but he was certainly guilty of putting himself in situations where they might occur. He still found such a challenge in a fist fight, that he found it hard to resist. Wizards, in general, scorned muggle fighting, regarding it as far beneath them. But, as Snape had said, Harry Potter really was a bit of a barbarian. He gained an immense satisfaction from extending himself without restraint.

Harry was lightning fast, and could deliver some pretty stinging blows, although he had never yet found the desire to really hurt. To him, his fights were purest enjoyment, and he didn't want them to end too soon. When, one Saturday evening, the man whom he was fighting seemed to be insufficient of a challenge, he was positively pleased when his enemies increased by two. He fought with a fierce grin on his face and contentment in his soul. And he spun and weaved and dodged - it was akin to the games of Quidditch that he used to enjoy. But that night he dodged right into a fist and was knocked out.

When he woke, he seemed to have a lot more sore places than when he had gone down. What concerned him more, he was in a muggle hospital and scheduled for a brain scan. So when opportunity permitted, he painfully got to his feet, picked up his possessions, (he kept his wand in a small kitbag on these excursions,) slipped behind a curtain, and disapparated.

It was habit that took him to his creeper, but he was in pain, and staggering rather. He changed his mind and signed himself in at the main gates. According to the records of the security guards, he hadn't been out, but they were accustomed to that with Harry and even agreed not to tell anyone that he was looking considerably the worse for wear.

He could have gone to the nurse, and had his bruises treated quickly and easily, but preferred to avoid a lecture, and, instead, cleaned himself up, and trusted to nature to heal him. But Sunday morning, he had to admit to himself that his black eye was not going to pass unnoticed. He was still hoping to avoid too much attention, so he skipped breakfast, and was intending to go as discreetly as he could to the hospital wing. Alas for his plans, when he stepped into the corridor, he ran straight into Professors McGonnagal and Flitwick.

Professor McGonnagal looked at him severely. "And what have you been up to, Mr. Potter?" she said, exactly as she would have done several years ago, when he had been a student.

But Harry wasn't a student any more, and since he was caught anyway, he was brazen, and grinned at her, "Playing with muggles, what else - _and _I had a glorious time!"

McGonnagal laughed, while Flitwick just looked at him in wonder. He never could fathom this brilliant young wizard.

Harry managed to avoid any other encounters until Madam Pomfrey had treated his bruises with her wonderfully effective violet ointment. When she found a couple of broken ribs, though, she found herself automatically reaching for her wand, and had to pull herself up short.

Harry noticed, and it occurred to him that this was yet another hazard of life. If he wound up at a wizard hospital, he would have to be very careful that no-one killed him with a healing spell.

He left the hospital, still with some pain from cracked ribs, but feeling much better, and with the black eye not nearly as conspicuous. Maybe it was worth the lecture. He wondered about brain scans. Did the brain scan of a wizard show differences to that of a muggle? Professor Dumbledore didn't know, and neither did Hermione when he asked her. Hermione, with her mediwizard contacts, promised to see if she could find out. It wasn't a matter of great moment, he was just curious.

It sometimes seemed that Harry Potter just couldn't keep out of trouble. Just about the time his ribs had healed, he came another cropper. He was playing on his broomstick. As usual, the only speed he seemed to understand was breakneck. Madam Pomfrey's attention had been drawn to his antics by one of her patients, and together they watched as Harry spun around and around in the air, before going into a steep dive toward the earth. The fifth year boy with her was looking for information, and said to her, "He's got a weak heart?" Madam Pomfrey didn't answer.

Harry was now zooming along the ground, weaving in and out of the trees, as he once had been able to do so effortlessly. Every now and then, he'd make a new attempt at this. He had overcome his handicap so successfully in normal activities, that he still thought that _surely _he could manage to overcome his broomstick's continual veer to the left. And as long as he concentrated very hard, and continually corrected himself, he wasn't doing too badly. Unfortunately, Hagrid called out to him, and Harry straightaway flew into a tree branch, knocking himself out.

So Madam Pomfrey, and the student, still watching, saw Hagrid gather him up in his arms, and she was at the door waiting for them as they arrived. He wasn't too bad, and she was unworried. It was only ten minutes before Harry blinked, stared at the ceiling for a minute, and said aloud, "I flew into a tree." He sat up in bed, lifted a hand to the lump on his forehead, and then rose rather shakily to his feet.

Madam Pomfrey said severely, "Lie down, Harry Potter. You're staying right here for at least the next hour!"

Harry smiled at her, and said meekly, "Yes, Poppy."

_**x**_

It was a warm Saturday in June. Harry Potter had been back in England for just three years. Students and staff were scattered around the grounds, many of them looking up when they saw him, waving greetings. But while he raised a hand in answer, he wanted to be alone today, and his quick stride carried him straight into the Dark Forest. No-one but Hagrid ever followed him there.

He didn't go far into the forest, just enough so that he could find solitude. He sat down on the grass, his back against the truck of a large tree, and stared into the distance.

Harry was feeling a sense of achievement. He had not done anything remarkable in these last three years - there would be no medals for this achievement. What he had managed to achieve was to stay alive. Life was not a minor thing to Harry Potter.

His enemy Cornelius Fudge was no longer Minister for Magic. He had been replaced by Amelia Bones, whom he trusted to be fair and reasonable. And Amelia Bones had given him permission to return a Death Curse to its originator. He had killed three times since then. And maybe what Dumbledore had said was true - that each time a person killed, he lost a part of himself. But Harry found that, with the killings, two before Christmas, one not long after, he had gained a lot of freedom. As he had long suspected, when retribution became likely, his surviving attackers lost interest in their game and left him alone.

Another thing that Harry had managed in these last three years, was to become a knowledgeable and competent teacher. He remembered how unprepared he had felt at the beginning. He was sure that Dumbledore only offered him the job in the first place, as a charitable act, but he had yearned for a life in the wizarding world that he loved, and had accepted the job anyway. But by now, he had confidence in his role, and felt that maybe he was even earning the salary that Dumbledore had finally told him was being paid. Next year, he was to be Professor Potter, a title which he still found slightly ludicrous.

He wasn't sure whether he should really be proud of his illegitimate child, Julia, but he most definitely was. He was quite sure that Julia was the most wonderful child in creation - beautiful, bright, charming. He visited her parents regularly, and was a favourite with not only the black-haired minx that was Julia, but with her parents, who were already finding that child a handful.

One of the most difficult things, though, that Harry had had to do, was simply to face people again, after making a spectacular fool of himself the previous October. He still burned with shame when he thought of that awful night, not only had he betrayed his terror of imprisonment, but he had sobbed in Ginny's arms - and in front of Severus Snape, Madam Pomfrey, Albus Dumbledore, and his best friends Ron and Hermione.

Harry Potter had entered a peaceful and contented phase of his life. He knew he still had enemies, he knew he could still be abruptly killed if exposed to even an innocuous spell, but he was feeling very content in the warmth of the June day.

_The End_.


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